Earning Their Stripes
by Many Impossible Things
Summary: When even Saints need some help, one bystander finds herself needing them right back... (Rated M for a McManus vocabulary and a tad bit more.)
1. Prologue

I looked around Dublin's international airport with a sigh. I was here; I was "safe". I knew I should have been excited. I was finally in Ireland! I'd wanted to go there for years, ever since high school choir. I was going to make a career out of studying the country for the Lord's sake. Only…I'd envisioned finally traveling here under slightly different circumstances… I'd imagined myself being happier.

But, I was here and I was here to stay no matter my state of mind.

Overshadowing my already minimal excitement was a decided sense of loss I couldn't shake. It really was stupid of me, especially since I'd just seen them, albeit after I'd lost them for a few months, but I couldn't help how I felt and hadn't since I'd met them. They'd shifted my feelings into fifth gear and never let me look back. All I could do was pray that they stayed safe until they were done. I had to pray that the McManuses somehow kept themselves all safe and alive…

I prayed a lot these days. A lot…

Sighing a final time and collecting myself, I grabbed the handles of my luggage and meandered to the rental car place. I'd been given a supply of starting money for a home, transportation, and new clothes as per the agreement. All I had to my name were my carry-on and one big rolling luggage filled with the books I couldn't part with. I hadn't the faintest idea where I was going to live but I had a bit before fall classes started at the university in Dublin.

That thought did at least make me smile a little. To prolong my moment of happiness, I put my nose to the large black pea coat I always wore. It still smelled of McManus. Not as much as it once did but still enough.

I was going home. As scared as I was at being dropped in a new country all on my own and depressed that they weren't with me, it just somehow felt like I was going home. The only explanation I'd been able to come up with was that I was going to _their_ home.

Everything Connor, Murphy, and Da had told me about their hometown was going to become real. I could see the church they always went to. I could visit their Uncle Siebel's bar, The Anvil, and compare it to McGinty's. I could find out where in the hell that name came from. I could somehow find the courage to go to their house and perhaps even meet their Ma. It would be interesting to meet her. They'd been comparing me to her forever…

I didn't know when I'd started needing them so much, but now I did. Trying to not care was impossible, so I didn't waste the energy. I didn't have the motivation to anyway. My life was scary. I could never go back to my home of Boston. Fuck, I could never go back to the United States in all probability either. Yet, it was strangely enough that I was going to their home. I couldn't have them so at least I could have their past.

I knew I sounded like one of those teenage girls who always had to have a boyfriend to depend on; one that needed a man to define herself. I'd never been like that before—I'd been too shy to talk to a man let alone let one define me—and I still wasn't sure that was what had happened to me. Instead, it was just that no matter all that had happened, the McManuses—Conn, Murphy, and Da—had become my family. They made me feel like myself and they loved me for it.

Reaching the car service, I politely made the attendant repeat himself three times until I finally caught everything he said. Note to self: work on heavy accents. I could understand Murph, Connor, and Da without even noticing the accent most of the time I was so used to it. I even had a pretty native-sounding accent myself when I wanted, certain words having crept into my vocabulary, which was good. I had to be born and bred Irish. It was the heavy accents I reeled at, especially when they talked fast. People I couldn't understand all the time, but thankfully the road signs I could. My Irish Gaelic was fine, not quite fluent but adequate for the time being.

In fact, it was Irish Gaelic that started the whole thing…


	2. St Patrick's Day

"Hey Stripes, come have a beer!"

One of Doc's only two barmaids raised her head and smiled at Murphy but just silently shook her head. She continued carrying the three mugs per hand as she waltzed through the crowd, fighting to get to the back booth. Doc smiled from where he stood in front of the boys behind the bar. "When you g-g-g-g-g-gonna stop flirtin' with her, M-M-M-Murph? Fuck! Ass!"

The young man laughed with exasperation, "When she fuckin' speaks! I can't think of any other fuckin' way to get her to talk except either flatter her or piss her off."

Connor nodded beside him, "Aye. That's because your brain's fuckin' tiny."

"Better than something else being fuckin' tiny," Murphy retorted, smirking into his Guinness.

Doc just shook his head. His new barkeeper was a mystery that his patrons—especially the McManuses—were determined to unravel. She'd shown up about a month previously. She came over to South Boston from the university, looking for somebody to teach her Gaelic. Since there wasn't much in the south side but bars and row houses, she'd started at the bars. She was such a shy thing; he still wondered how she'd done it. McGinty's had been her tenth stop and she was about ready to give up when Doc had nodded to her question: "Please, dear Christ above _please,_ tell me you know someone who can teach me Gaelic!"

It had been such an odd exclamation in the naturally quiet voice she had. She had a shy person's voice: soft, higher, and slightly hoarse from little use.

Despite his Tourette's, Doc was fluent in Gaelic, having lived on the Emerald Isle for the first forty years of his life. She'd practically dropped to her knees and begged him to teach her. She was a history major working into the first year of her master's degree, with a specialty in the British Isles, namely Ireland. Her final paper of the semester was about some medieval text some monk had written. She had to date it or decide its purpose, something of that sort. Her problem was it was completely in Gaelic instead of the traditional Latin. She didn't know noun from verb or dieresis from accent mark when it came to the language. She was desperate for someone to teach her.

Doc had agreed; he didn't know why. Even after his warning about his speech problem, she'd still said yes. "It's no problem to me. I'll just ignore every fuck and ass, no big deal." As it happened, he'd just lost a bartender and she'd found herself unemployed. So, she came in the next afternoon as soon as her classes were done. He gave her Gaelic lessons until five and then she worked until midnight, occasionally later. She didn't know a Guinness from a Hennessey but she was sweet, a hard worker, and intriguing without realizing it.

And not once had he heard her utter a word to anybody during open hours. She gave out her heartwarming smiles easily enough by that time, but no one but him knew as much as her name. He wasn't sure why. She _was_ a shy thing maybe that was why.

He remembered wondering her first night if she'd be able to hack it. She had gingerly shaken his other barmaid's hand, saying in that quiet voice that it was nice to meet her. However, from that moment on everything had gone downhill for her. As soon as the groups of men began wandering in, she began getting progressively paler and infinitely more skittish. Her lack of alcoholic knowledge didn't help her flustered movements. She went from booth to booth, unable to speak, having to trust the patrons to automatically give their orders. A good many of the guys had laughed at Doc's new mouse of a barmaid; others had thought her silence all out rude. An Irishwoman was never that quiet; she let you know exactly what she felt and wasn't shy about it at all. This girl was definitely going through culture shock and they weren't sure they liked it.

Connor and Murphy had been the first and only to get a smile out of her that night when both had come behind the bar and demonstrated how to make the most-ordered beverages, bickering with each other the entire time.

Things had gotten much better for her as the nights wore on. Doc still noticed her pale a bit as she had to venture out into the masses of the floor or when confronted with half a dozen drunk Irishmen screaming for drinks and almost leaping over the bar. Nevertheless, she always seemed to enjoy herself.

So, February flew into March and St. Patty's Day was upon them. In the spirit of the season, she had donned a black and green striped scarf. Connor had immediately dubbed her Stripes the last time she wore it and the name stuck after that night. She quickly began to answer to the nickname.

As Doc went off to a corner to talk to some patron he knew but hadn't seen in forever, Stripes took his place at the bar. Before they had a chance to open their mouths, she had two Guinnesses each in front of the McManuses. She giggled at Murphy's awestruck expression. Just because she didn't talk didn't mean she didn't notice things.

An hour or so later, their friend Rocco burst into the bar to loud cheers. She groaned inwardly. He was funny, sure, but he annoyed her to no end. Murphy flirted with her and Connor teased, but it was all in good fun. She figured they wanted to trick her into talking by provoking her enough and just went about it different ways. Rocco genuinely flirted despite apparently having a girlfriend of some sort. She'd caught him staring at everything south of her face an unpleasant amount. It didn't make her feel comfortable in the slightest.

There was something about Irishmen that made a girl not scared to be around them, no matter their blood-alcohol level. Whether it was something ingrained in them or in her, she wasn't sure but she knew that even three sheets to the wind not one of those Irish men would touch her if she made a fuss about it. Apparently Italians were different…

He came in with arms wide open, "Hey Fuck Ass, get me a beer!" He paused as he sat down and noticed that she was at the bar. "Oh, my bad. Hot Ass, get me a beer!"

Her expression grew cold when she slammed his Sam Adams down in front of him, sloshing it into his lap. "Hey!" She gave him an icy smirk before filling up a mug for someone else with a genuine smile. Despite her shyness, her prolonged annoyance of him and exposure to Irishmen was making it easier for her to express that dislike. Connor chuckled from beside Rocco, "I don't think she appreciates yer name for her, Roc. Try Stripes."

"Hey Stripes, pretty please get me a beer!" This time she complied.

"So, Conn, how're your balls doing?" Murphy asked with a grin.

Roars of laughter filled the room as every worker at their packing plant heard. Stripes laughed at Conn's expression but looked confused until Murphy began gesturing with his mug to her, "It was the funniest fuckin' thing ever, Stripes. I'm telling ya." She refilled his mug and leaned against the counter with interest and a smile as he continued, "Ya see there was this new chick at the plant."

Connor snorted and Murphy corrected himself, "All right, I'm not so sure she was fuckin' female either. One of those scary lesbian ones that you ain't sure about. But Conn here, me dear, sweet twin Conn, had to train her. He said somethin' wrong and she fuckin' nails him right in the balls!"

"I was fuckin' civil, too!" Connor shouted, smiling despite himself at Murphy's laughter. "It fuckin' hurt. I don't know if they'll ever be the fuckin' same. Then our evil fuckin' Ma!"

Murphy collapsed into hysterics next to him. Connor shook his head and explained to Stripes, "See, she pulls a prank on us every St. Patty's Day, never fails. Today, just as I'd sat down to ice me nuts, she calls us up sounding drunker than any Irishwoman has a right to be before five o'clock at night yammerin' on about us bringing her misery, and her having nothin' to fuckin' live for. Then she says 'oh, I've got yer Da's revolver and I'm gonna kill meself'! So like any natural son would I start yelling for her to think clear and make some fuckin' sense. The next thing I hear, she's shooting herself. I throw the phone on the floor it's so fuckin' loud and then dive after it. Then she starts cacklin' and bein' all proud of herself. Then, when we attempt to fuckin' get a straight answer out of her about which is the older twin, she gives us the bullshit answer of the one with the bigger cock! Just as I got fuckin' done icing me nuts!"

The crowd laughed but Stripes froze where she was for a second. Then suddenly a smile spread across her face at Connor. She knew what might cheer him and his nuts up a bit. She held up a finger and then took the few steps over to Doc, threw an arm around his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He glanced back at the McManuses and suddenly smiled, "Sure, s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sweetheart. Be my g-g-g-g-g-g-g-guest. Fuck! Ass!"

She hurried into the back room and in what they could hear, the brothers made out what sounded like a good bit of rummaging. She was looking for a bottle of Jamaican rum she'd bought for Doc a week earlier for his birthday. It'd cost her a fortune but the old man said it was one of his favorites. They heard a scream and then a large thump that worried them. Looking more than slightly tussled, she emerged seconds later carrying a bottle. She dug around under the bar for a moment before pulling up a tumbler. She poured some of the mystery alcohol into the glass and slid it to him, slapping Murphy's hand when he reached for it too. "This might perk them up to their natural size. Happy St. Patty's, Connor."

"Thanks, Stripes," he smiled back.

Before he could even take a drink or realize that she had just spoken, Murphy, Rocco, their boss, and a regular named Jackson all spit their beer out in her direction. She screamed and only just got her eyes closed against the spray. Silence fell over the bar as she took some deep breaths and slowly opened her eyes. Murphy immediately shot up, wiping the beer off her face with his sleeve. "Stripes, I'm _so_ sorry!" He continued on, babbling apologies that ran together until she couldn't understand a word.

She took a step back, as if to collect herself. Before they could react though, she had grabbed a bucket of ice and flung the contents at them, laughing hysterically.

An ice fight ensued that only ended because Doc cut in. He stuttered with laughter this time, "A-a-a-a-all right, now!"

Stripes washed the beer off the best she could before returning to the floor, letting go of her talking but not her smile.

Hours later, when all patrons were gone but a group of maybe six at the bar, Stripes had a broom in hand and was attempting to clean up the disaster area the bar had become. She'd washed all the beer out of her scarf and long black hair, so she felt much better.

"Hey, Stripes, when do I get a happy St. Patty's wish?" Murphy smiled at her and was answered with a poke in the back with the broom handle. He'd been pushing her all night to talk again but she wasn't having it. She grinned mysteriously and continued sweeping. Murph shook his head, "It's not fair, Conn. I'm the one putting the most fuckin' work into making her talk and it's you she talks to."

"That's cuz you're fuckin' annoyin', Murph."

They all laughed and Doc saw Stripes' warm smile, but he sighed. "L-l-l-l-listen, boys. I'm gonna have to close down the b-b-b-b-bar. The Russians are buying up buildings all over town, includin' this one. They're not letting me renew my lease. Fuck! Ass!"

Rocco cut in, "Hey, maybe I can talk to my boss." There was a disbelieving uproar. Nobody believed Rocco's boss could do anything. He sure hadn't done anything for Rocco.

"But-but listen fellas! I don't want anybody to know about this. So you keep your traps shut. Well-well, you know what they say. People in glass houses sink ships."

The guys all laughed and Stripes had to, too. She loved Doc but proverbs and keeping them straight were not his forte.

Rocco snorted, "Doc, I-I gotta buy you a proverb book or something. This mix and match shit's gotta go." Doc looked confused and the others chuckled.

Connor nodded, gesturing with his cigarette, "Yeah, a penny saved is worth two in the bush."

"And don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen," Murphy added to everyone's amusement. Stripes smiled but rolled her eyes before smacking them both across the back of the head.

"Hey!" they protested in unison. She just raised an eyebrow at them as if to say 'you deserved it' before beginning to sweep again.

Suddenly, the door banged open, drawing everyone's attention. Stripes' sweeping slowed and she backed up toward the wall. The look the Russian with the blue coat was giving her made her uncomfortable, especially the way the look went up and down her multiple times. He elbowed the biggest man in the middle and nodded toward her. The big man grinned as he caught sight of her before continuing to the bar. Blue suit man blew a kiss to her before turning to face the bar with his boss. She shrunk back in fear, gripping her broom tighter.

The largest of the three cleared his throat, "I am Ivan Checkov. You will be closing now."

After a tense pause in which all the Irishmen at the bar arose, facing the three Russians, Murphy began with a laugh, "Well, now this here's McCoy. If we find ourselves a Spock we've got an away team."

Everyone but Stripes and the Russians laughed. Ivan in particular looked unhappy, "I am in no mood for discussion. You and you stay!" he shouted, pointing at Doc and Stripes. "The rest of you go now."

After sending a worried glance at Stripes and then an angry one at the Russians, Doc spat out, "You leave the lass the f-f-f-fuck alone. Why don't you make like a tree and get the fuck out of here!"

Everyone groaned as Connor turned, "Calm down, Doc. I'm sure they're reasonable fellows." He and Murphy both grabbed a beer and a shot of whiskey and offered them to the Russians, "Listen, ya know he's got until the end of the week. You don't have to be hard asses, do ya?"

Murphy continued, "Yeah, it's St. Patty's Day. Everybody's Irish tonight. Why don't you pull up a stool and have a drink with us?"

Ivan reached forward and slapped the glasses to the floor, "This is no game! If you do not go, we will make you go."

Connor sighed, "Look, if you're looking for a fight, you can see that you're outnumbered. We're trying ta be civil here so we suggest you take our offer."

"I make the offers here, asshole."

Rocco then staggered forward, making the situation worse, "Hey Boris, what if I told you that your pinko, commie mother sucked so much dick that-" Before he could finish his train of thought, Ivan had punched him in the face, felling the Italian.

Connor turned to the Russian, expression and tone now icy. He said something in what Stripes could only assume was Russian. Murphy followed with just as perfect Russian. She wasn't the only one shocked by the McManus' hidden talent. Ivan was shocked into silence for a moment.

The two brothers looked at each other. With a glance, they came to a silent agreement. Downing the whiskey, they fluidly knelt and punched Ivan in the thighs simultaneously. He was down immediately. The bar broke into chaos with everyone screaming and throwing punches. Murphy took on the Russian in the brown coat. However, before Connor could get to the guy in blue, he'd grabbed Stripes around the neck, using her trembling body as a shield. She didn't know what to do here! The fear in her green eyes froze Connor where he stood.

Murphy soon had the other Russian down with two bottles to either side of his head. That left the rest of the bar tensely quiet. Stripes was sending them looks of terror, silently asking what she should do. Connor stepped warily toward the remaining Russian and Stripes. Her face was beginning to redden with lack of oxygen. The Russian barked and tightened his grip as Connor moved, "I have girl! Back the fuck off!"

"You let her fuckin' go. She's no part of this."

The Russian chuckled, "But she pretty…"

The others watched in horror as his free hand began to slide down her side toward the top of her jeans. Only the brothers saw the fear in Stripes' eyes turn into anger. Before his hand could reach under her shirt, she threw back her head into his nose, effectively breaking it with a sickening crack.

He yelled in pain and pushed her into the cabinet at their side as Connor launched forward, punching him in the face. Stripes connected with the edge and she fell to the ground with a groan as her head throbbed all over.

The next thing she knew, it was quiet once again and both McManuses held out hands to her. She grasped them and found herself painfully upright. She put a hand to her head, feeling the bruise on her eye coming on. They rushed her over to the bar and Doc handed her a bag of ice. She broke away from the hands, holding the bag to her face. She then climbed over the bar and went about pouring herself a drink.

They watched silently as she just grabbed a tumbler and began filling it to the brim with a mixture of every alcohol she could find. To finish it off, she dropped in a wedge of pineapple. She took a gulp followed by a stiff cough and slid slowly to the floor, leaning against the back wall. Murphy was the first to break the silence, "You all right, Stripes?"

She managed a smile and nod, holding up her glass and taking another drink.

He and Connor then turned to the unconscious Ivan. It didn't feel right to just let him leave…

Another hour later, the Russians had been thrown out and everyone but the McManuses had left. They were just pulling their coats on and telling Doc good night when Stripes rose, putting her icepack down. The three Irishmen cringed. The large purple bruise didn't go well with her pale skin, green eyes, long black hair, and shy disposition.

She gave them a smile and began sweeping once more. The twins exchanged a look, again silently answering some question they had. Connor asked, "You sure you're all right, Stripes?"

"Yeah…thanks for asking guys." She knew it was both of them asking, so she might as well thank them together. Suddenly, they stepped forward together, threw arms around her shoulders, squeezed her in a hug, and gave her a kiss on each temple. The display made an incandescent smile spread across her face. She called out as they reached the door, "Hey Murphy…Happy St. Patrick's Day."

They both smiled and Murphy shot both arms in the air, "Aye, I have prevailed!"

Connor laughed, "Now that we know she can talk, we have to figure out her name."

Doc grinned as the door swung closed behind them, "Y-y-y-you just made their night."

She returned his smile for a moment. But then, Stripes sighed and looked up from her broom, "Hey Doc, do you mind if I sleep in one of the booths tonight? I…I don't really want to walk home tonight…"

He nodded, "Sure, l-l-l-l-l-lass. Whatever you need. Do you have class tomorrow?"

She nodded, "Not until two. I'll have time to run home and get cleaned up."

"Okay. F-f-f-f-f-feel free. Just lock up when you leave." Doc gave her a one armed hug and then disappeared up the backstairs that led to his apartment over the bar.


	3. The Morning After

So, I'm not the type to hold chapters hostage for reviews or anything, but any feedback you can hit me with would be great. Also, page breaks are a pain on this site, so whenever you see a "TBS" that's a page break for you. Thanks for reading! :D

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><p>Stripes woke up at seven the next morning with a headache heinous enough to constitute as a hangover had she actually drunk enough to warrant one. No, it was the ever expanding bruise on her face that continued to throb. She swung herself up and grabbed her coat and purse from below the bar. She had some Tylenol at home. After she made the relatively short twelve block journey, she would feel better.<p>

She pulled her coat tightly around her and rewrapped her scarf around her neck and then set off.

The chill was just beginning to get to her when she turned onto a street about halfway to her home. She was just passing an alleyway when she froze and said in innocent surprise, "Murphy?"

His eyes shot to hers from where he was kneeling behind the cover of a dumpster in a dirty bathrobe and his leather boots. He paled before screaming, "RUN! RUN, Stripes!"

Her legs refused to move, though. As soon as she noticed the gun pointed at Murphy's head, her entire body froze. Her surprised gaze traveled from the gun, up the arm, to the beaten face of Ivan Checkov. As soon as he recognized her, his eyes narrowed and he swung his gun from pointing at Murphy to pointing at her. Within a second, he'd shot and she felt a terrible pain blaze through her left shoulder right before her entire body as she was thrown backwards to the hard concrete.

"Stripes!"

For a moment, she couldn't move. Pain blinded every sense and she couldn't decipher up from down. Then she heard Checkov say smugly, "I hope your conscience is clear, Irishman." Then she heard a click that the movies had taught her could only be a gun being cocked.

Some instinct that she didn't realize she had kicked in. She pushed herself up and ran forward, throwing Checkov off balance. His aim went wild and the shot he'd intended to end Murphy's life with went straight into the dumpster. She fell in pain half on the ground and half in Murphy's lap. They both looked up and saw it at the same time.

She screamed and Murphy bent over, covering his head with his arms and hers with his body. Ivan was just rising as the toilet hurtled from the sky onto his head. He slumped to the ground, immediately dead.

A second later, Connor came raining from the sky as well. He crashed into the blue-suited Russian who had been too surprised to react to the last few seconds; they both rolled onto the ground unconscious. She scurried out of Murphy's lap as the Russian began to stir. Murph grabbed the toilet tank lid and swiftly hit the Russian over the head with it until he was still. She crawled over to Connor, and gently rolled him over.

His head and both his wrists were bleeding profusely. Forgetting about the bullet hole in her own shoulder, she snatched the scarf from around her neck and pressed it to his head. It'd been a while since biology during her general studies but it didn't look like the veins in his wrists had been cut. So, she'd try and take care of his head the best she could. His knee was swollen but she didn't know what she could do for that.

Murphy appeared in her line of sight again, looking around at a slight loss. He saw something next to Ivan and she watched as he shoved their guns, money, and some of their personal effects into a green gift bag. He looked around a final time, indecision in his gray eyes. His brother was unconscious. They'd just killed two Russian mobsters. And now he had a wounded barkeeper to worry about.

"Here, I'll trade ye." She continued to hold her scarf to Connor's head as she grabbed the bag and Murphy hoisted his brother onto his shoulders.

It wasn't until they were staggering as quickly as they could down the streets to the hospital that the pain in her shoulder truly hit her again. Tears sprung into her eyes and began flowing freely down her face. She bit her lip to keep herself quiet. She hadn't been in the hospital for herself since the day she was born so anything stronger than period pain was beyond her experience. She fought to keep her arm up and holding her scarf to Connor's head, though.

She and Murphy remained silent as they made their trek. Before she knew it, they were stumbling through the doors of the crumby hospital. Two nurses rushed up to them, one began questioning Murphy, and the other grabbed her hand and pulled the scarf away from Connor's temple.

The sob of pain she'd been holding back ripped from her throat as that nurse batted her wounded arm to the side.

"Hey, hey, hey! Be nice ta her! She's got a bullet in her shoulder!" Murphy shouted as she collapsed to her knees beside him.

TBS TBS

"So, explain ta me what the fuck Stripes is doin' here again."

Murphy sighed as he hung up the payphone. He loved his twin more than himself but Christ in Heaven Conn annoyed him sometimes! He'd already explained twice, not to mention Connor had fuckin' been there! "I fuckin' told ya. She was walking by and she saw me. She said my name. I told her to run but once she saw the gun she fuckin' froze. That fuckin' Russian shot her and he was about to pull the trigger on me when she slammed into him. It threw him off enough to miss me and the next thing we know it's raining toilets and Connor fuckin' McManus!"

Connor rubbed his bandaged wrists and looked pensive as they sat down on a random gurney in the hallway. "Christ above, she saved yer fuckin' life."

"I'd fuckin' noticed, Conn."

Stripes immediately recognized Murphy's irritated voice and accent when she really came to after being stitched up. She quickly shoved the piece of green bag she'd torn off into her pocket before peering out of the examination room she'd been in, "Murphy, shouldn't you be too hung over to yell?" They both jumped up, taking in her bruised face and sling. She attempted to smile but a sudden wave of pain killed it. Then she realized that Connor was standing there, too.

"Oh my God, Conn, are you okay? Did they fix your wrists and everything? Your head looked horrible! What about your knee? It looked like a melon." She grabbed both of his wrists in turn and then stood on her tiptoes to see his head wound before he could say a word. Her worry was plastered across her face, and her examination of him so intent that she didn't notice their laughter until she was done. "What?"

Murph snickered, "Before yesterday you wouldn't even talk to us and now you're like our fuckin' Ma here."

He was only teasing, but she blushed and took a few steps back, "Sorry. It's just that, well, you jumped from the roof and then you were laying there bleeding and… I'm sorry. Here's your bag. I have to go to class today, so…I-I hope you feel better," she finished lamely, while attempting to wrap her scarf around her, despite the fact it was still soaked with Connor's blood. She didn't really care. She was embarrassed and she just wanted to get out of there.

Connor reached forward and gently grabbed her arm before she could leave, taking off the scarf and putting it beside him. "He's just teasing, Stripes. Come on up." He gently helped her up onto the gurney with them. He turned and punched Murphy in the arm, "She's trying to be nice for Christ's sake!"

"Aye, I know. And she wasn't trying, she _was_ bein' nice, Conn."

She laughed quietly, asking them before Connor could get the retort out of his mouth, "Do you two always bicker this much? I thought it might just be a while you were inebriated thing."

"Well, ya see it all started when we were little. Ma wouldn't tell us which one was older and we've been bickering about everything ever since. It's all her fault, ye notice. Besides," Murphy finished with a grin, "we're no different from inebriated to sober. We're Irish for Christ's sake."

"I'm sure you two will figure out who's older one day, but just to disqualify myself now, I won't be helping you," she smirked slyly.

"Oooh, she is a feisty one, ain't she, Murph." The twins exchanged a grin and Conn continued, "You know, we could just solve this once and for all. It ain't like we're overdressed. We could get Stripes here to answer for us!"

She squealed with laughter as she attempted to cover her eyes as theirs hands went directly to their boxers, "No! Not while I'm crippled and only have one hand to shield myself!"

She wasn't sure what or who they were waiting for, but she was content to sit there with them. Their uncanny ability to make her laugh made her forget about her shoulder and shyness completely. They quickly transplanted to a gurney with a bald little boy when he was left near them in the hallway. She crawled up on one side of him and Murphy was on the other. Connor stood in front of him.

She looked up only briefly to see Doc come in. Then she turned her attention and smile back to Connor. His outstretched hands were underneath the little boy's. His Irish accent made the little boy giggle as he began the game, "All right, now look at the ceiling, sense of touch alone. Wait till ye feel me move." Murphy reached out a hand and gently slapped the little boy's. "See, I'm so quick ye couldn't even feel me move, could ya. Okay, try it again, try it again."

By then Murphy had noticed Doc and motioned for Connor to move. She stayed with the little boy as they moved off to talk to Doc. Connor was still limping badly and she had to resist the urge to get up and help him. She wasn't sure his pride would appreciate the gesture. He had Murphy if he wanted help. She turned to the little boy with hands outstretched, "So, do you want to play with somebody who doesn't cheat?" The little boy smiled and nodded.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them give the green bag to Doc and then Doc give them what looked like a business card. They whispered to each other for a minute after Doc turned to go. He asked if she was all right and at her nod and assurance she'd be at work that day, he left with a parting "Fuck! Ass!"

The brothers looked at each other and then looked at her a moment later. She smiled at the little boy and kissed his forehead, "Hey, I think we're going but you get better." He nodded that he would. She walked over to them and asked, "Are you guys leaving?"

Murphy nodded, "Yeah, we're gonna head over to the police station and tell them what fuckin' happened."

"Do you want some help getting there? I've got some time before my class." She didn't know why but she didn't want to come right out and ask if Murphy wanted some help with keeping Connor upright.

Murphy paused but Connor nodded, "Aye, if ye've got time." She only smiled in response, wrapping her scarf about her neck, ignoring the red stain it began to leave on her skin. She tied her mangled jacket around her waist and went to his left side. They stopped long enough for the brothers to cross themselves with the holy water by the door then were gone from the crowded ER.

She found herself laughing the entire way to the precinct. Murphy and Connor regaled her with tales of their youth that she couldn't keep a straight face during. They'd just finished telling of how they'd had their first beers at age four when they reached the police station stairs. She and Murphy struggled to get Connor painlessly up the stairs before striding into open view of a full bullpen.

They were unnoticed long enough for one of the detectives to all but shout to the rest of the room, "These guys are miles away right now." The McManuses and Stripes stopped and were noticed by just one man who could only be the FBI agent Doc had mentioned. He remained silent as the arrogant cop continued, "But if you want to beat your head against a wall here's what you've gotta do. These guys are scared like two little bunny rabbits. Anything with flashing blue lights and a uniform is going to spook them. So the only thing we can do is put a potato on a string and drag it through South Boston. Thanks for coming out!"

"You'd probably have better luck with a beer," Murphy piped up smugly.

Connor nodded, "Aye, that you would."

Everyone turned to look at them with surprise except for the agent who just looked amused. She took Connor's arm from around her shoulders as attention made her pale, letting Murphy get used to supporting him by himself. She dug in her jeans pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that she put into Connor's hand. She whispered before any cops could get close enough to hear, "If you guys need somewhere to stay since you don't have a toilet anymore, this is where I live. You can stay whenever you want," she sent a grin to Murphy, "as long as you don't mind me turning into your Ma whenever one of us has a near-death experience."

Murphy grinned back and Connor smacked him in the head as best he could with a chuckle, "Ye fuckin' dumbass, you've driven her away before we got her name."

The agent had reached them by then and she backed off, "And hey, put some pants on. I don't need the rest of South Boston finding out who's the older twin before I do."

"Aye Ma!" they said in unison. They exchanged a grin and a look before Connor tugged her back. He stumbled to her other side and both threw arms around her, squeezed, and kissed her temples.

Smecker looked on with confusion but said nothing as they began to follow him. She gave a little wave when Connor looked back. His grin made her smile. All her courage left her, however, when they were led into an interrogation room. She untied her coat and shrugged it on as best she could with her sling. She was on her way out when one solitary cop stopped her. He grabbed her uninjured arm and held her back. She frowned up at him, vaguely registering that his nametag said he was Mitchell.

He smiled at her but it didn't give her the safe feeling that Connor's had. His smile was more like Rocco's. "Ma'am, if I could just get your name in case we need to call you in to verify anything those two say?"

She nodded and gave it to him before all but running from the station.

She tried to calm the chills from running up and down her back as she made her way back to her apartment. She quickly changed her pants and grabbed her one other coat. She didn't know how to navigate changing her shirt and wasn't about to waste time with it when she had less than an hour to get to class. She put her books in her blue plaid messenger bag, grabbed a different scarf, and left before she could truly think about the past twelve hours of her life. Her life wasn't perfect but it was less than perfect in ways that generally didn't involve two near-death experiences in one day…

TBS TBS

"So, how is it you guys are fluent in Russian?"

Connor smirked, "We paid attention in school." Murphy smiled and nodded.

"You know any other languages?" They smiled at each other and began to discuss the manner in which Smecker could have possibly figured everything out in four of the six languages they spoke.

"What are you guys doing working in a frigging meatpacking plant?" They kind of shrugged as they chuckled. "So, where does that girl come in? She just showed up on the street and stepped in?"

Murphy nodded, "Aye, she's been working at the bar we go to for the last month. She walked by and I guess she saw me. Checkov shot her before she could run. The next thing I know, she slams into him before he can put a bullet in my brain, and then Connor drops a fuckin' toilet on his head."

"So, were you friends? You know her well?"

Connor shook his head and laughed, "Well, not really. She spoke to us for the first time last night."

Smecker's face took on a surprised expression and he sighed, "Shit, a genuine good Samaritan. I haven't run across one of those in years. Can I get her name?"

The McManuses exchanged a glance. Murphy shrugged, "Well, we were in the process of getting it ourselves. It's kind of a thing with her. It took us a month to get her to talk. We were shooting for getting her name by Mother's Day."

Smecker shrugged with a laugh, "I'll see if anyone out there got it. If I find out, I'll pass it on and make your lives easier."

"Thank you," they said in unison.

He made to get up but an officer came in, "Ah, Agent Smecker, we've got a problem."

"Oh?"

"The press is everywhere outside. They're going nuts for these guys. What'd you want me to do?"

Smecker turned back to the McManuses, "You're not being charged with anything. It's up to you. Do you want to talk to them?"

"Absolutely not," Connor answered immediately.

Murphy nodded, "No pictures either. Can we just stay here?"

The officer piped up with excitement, "Yeah! We've got an extra holding cell. They can…" he trailed off looking at Smecker. "Can they stay?"

The agent smiled, "Well, we'll have to call your mom but it's all right with me if your friends sleep over." The McManuses chuckled as he rose, "Time to feed the dogs."

As he walked through the bullpen he called out, "Did anyone get the name of the woman who came in with the McManus brothers?"

He was greeted with negative responses from all sides. Officer Mitchell shook his head as Smecker met his gaze, "She was gone before I could ask. Is she important, sir?"

Smecker shrugged, "I don't think so. She's just a good Samaritan. She didn't even really know the McManuses but she stepped in to help them against those Russian mobsters. She's either a saint or she's got it out for mobsters." He continued toward the door, missing Mitchell's pensive look.


	4. Impetus

Hooray, even a single review makes my day/night/too freakin' early in the morning! So, the plot's actually moving a forward a bit now. I'd like to state that the Italian mob is not a forte of mine and I manipulate them and their objects for my sinister literary purposes only, accuracy is relative as far as I'm concerned. Oh yeah, also, my disclaimer for everything is on my profile page. If you're considering suing me, take a look at that and then preferably reconsider. Thanks for reading! :)

* * *

><p>Stripes went about her life as usual after that day, or at least, she tried. The bar wasn't the same without the McManuses and Doc officially closed five days after St. Patty's Day. She tried helping him as best she could through the week but the sling made being a bar girl rather impossible. She could still carry three mugs but whenever she tried to maneuver through a crowd, she always ended up hurting herself. So, on Friday, McGinty's final morning as McGinty's, she sat on a stool in the storeroom putting bottle after bottle of alcohol into box after box.<p>

Doc walked in to get another load of boxes. "Are y-y-y-y-you all right, lass? Is your shoulder hurting you again? Fuck! Ass!"

All things considered, her shoulder was healing slowly but surely. "No Doc. My shoulder's fine. It's just odd is all." She gave him a weak smile, "I'd just started to like how this was going. I liked coming to work every day and seeing everyone. I'm sorry about all this, Doc."

He shook his head, "No, I'm sorry about l-l-l-l-leaving you without a job."

She shrugged, "I already got the rent paid this month and I paid my tuition at the beginning of the semester. I'll find something before I get into trouble."

"Have you heard from the McManus b-b-b-b-b-boys? They told me about you being there when they g-g-g-g-g-got attacked. Fuck! Ass!"

"No," she sighed and felt tears come to her eyes, "No, I haven't." The tears confused her. She didn't even know them very well. Why was she crying? She didn't know why but she had a bad feeling when it came to them. She just felt like they were in danger. It didn't help that according to their boss, they hadn't been to work since that day…

Around one she walked up to Doc and gave him a parting hug, "I've got class now. It's been great being here, Doc. Thanks for everything."

There was sadness in the old man's stutter, "Y-y-y-y-you too, lass. You, too." She picked up her bag and gave him a smile as she walked out the front door for the last time.

TBS TBS

She had Dark Ages Irish History that day at two. It wasn't her favorite class, all things considered. She preferred the High Middle Ages to the Dark but it was required. It was about Ireland which made it a little better. She sat attentively through the class, taking the millions of notes the lecture demanded. She thanked God above for the millionth time that Checkov had shot her left shoulder and not the right. She may not have been able to wear a jacket properly but at least she could write. Typing was a nuisance, but she was getting there. She was slowly and painfully getting a system down for changing her shirt, too. It amazed her that such accomplishments were such a big deal to her.

She pulled her scarf more tightly around her neck as she crossed the courtyard with two classmates at four, the end of class. She didn't know them well and generally didn't talk to people but found that they knew their stuff as they discussed the upcoming paper. Hers was done but she had multiple others not to mention job hunting to worry about.

They were still together as a group when they reached a parking lot that split one side of the campus from the other. They stepped onto the pavement and before they could get further than a few feet, two cars had screeched to a halt in front of them. The other woman with Stripes screamed and the man looked ready to swear at the drivers.

Stripes froze where she stood as four men got out, each one with a gun pointed at her head. Her eyes widened and she attempted to back up. Repeated exposure was not conducive to alleviating her fear of firearms pointed at her. "Don't move!"

The accent she was greeted with was Italian, not Russian as she thought it would be. Before she could wonder what the Italian mob wanted with her, they had grabbed her and thrown her into the trunk of one of the cars. Instinct kicked in after pain at landing on her shoulder coursed through her, so she began screaming.

"Help! Help me!" Her words were cut off as the trunk closed. The last thing she saw was her two classmates staring at her with open mouths, not doing a thing to help her.

TBS TBS

Kicking at the trunk's lid did absolutely nothing but make her sore but she did it anyway. She only ceased when the car stopped. She waited patiently for the trunk to open. She was poised to kick the first face she saw but her leg slowly dropped to the floor when she found a gun barrel pressed to her forehead. Her gaze once again began with the gun, went up its wielder's arm, and then rested on a face.

This face was in its mid-forties. He had the olive skin of an Italian and his dark hairline was receding. He wore business pants and a blue dress shirt. His accent confirmed her suspicions of his Italian origin. He smirked as the fear painted itself across her features, "I am Papa Joe. I am head of the Yakavetta family and I want you to tell me everything you know about this fucking bastard who is killing off my people."

While before, all she had wanted was to get out of the trunk, then she shrunk back further into it. She had heard the name Papa Joe before on the news. He was the boss; not just a boss but _the_ boss. He wouldn't shoot her but he would order someone else to without the slightest thought. Tears began to stream down her face. Facing down two mobsters hadn't seemed so bad last time when she had two McManuses at her back.

Now, she was completely alone and could make out at least five Italian mafia members, all with guns.

Her voice was weak, squeaky, and reminded her of Doc when she replied, "I-I don't know who you're talking about."

Papa Joe smiled once again, "Bueno! Finally, one who is going to cry for a while? I have missed this part of the job." He nodded to her and two large minions scrambled forward and roughly hauled her out of the trunk, doing nothing for her wound. Within moments, she found herself handcuffed to a chair in the middle of an empty room in what she assumed was a warehouse. A bright, severe light hung from the ceiling above her head, hurting her eyes, just as they did on television.

She felt the blood drain from her face as Papa Joe began to pace in front of her. He in and of himself was not intimidating. With the lack of hair and slightly comical accent, she could have easily laughed off her anxiety under different circumstances. Now, however, pure fear was running through her veins as she caught sight of the pistol in his grip. Her lip quivered until she bit it to keep back sobs of terror.

"So," he began, "I hear from my friend Mitchell in the police that you like being around when mobsters get killed. He is the one who told me your name, Miss Sandler. You were there a few days ago when two Irish faggots killed two Russians. My friend said you didn't know those Irish guys at all. You just stepped in out of the blue. Now, while some would say you were being a good…what's the word here?"

He looked to his counterparts but they all shrugged. She offered in a quiet voice, "A good Samaritan?"

"Yes, that is it. But I do not believe it. No, I think that you just like to kill mobsters. I believe you are why Rocco killed all nine Russians with a six-shot pistol, why my best hit man is dead, and why I had to get Il Duce out of jail."

She grasped at what little she understood of his accusation, "Rocco? As in long hair and beard Rocco? _You're_ his famous boss?"

"No longer and you know exactly of what Rocco I speak." He suddenly lashed out and kicked her chair over. Her head hit the ground with a painful thud. She whimpered, tears leaking out of her eyes. "Now, when is he coming to get me? I know I'll be on his list. Tell me when!"

She shook her head, "I don't know!"

"DON'T LIE!" He brought his foot down on her side. His eyes flashed and in that moment, his peons remembered why it was they feared him.

They smiled and giggled to each other as the young woman on the floor screamed in pain and sobbed, "I swear I don't know!"

He raised his gun level with her forehead, but then his cellphone rang. Swearing in Italian, he picked up, "What?" Moments later, he growled before snapping it shut. "You three, come with me! Frankie, you watch the bitch and the ledger. I'll be back later tonight to finish up with her."

He replaced his pistol on his hip before approaching the sobbing heap at his feet. He sneered at her. He loved the weak. They cried and sniveled and their worthless pleas of innocence and for mercy made the job fun. It was the deceptively strong ones he despised. The ones who still cried and screeched but never gave a whisper of what he needed to know. He hated killing people when it didn't profit him in some way.

She stared up at him. The green eyes that greeted him were fear-riddled and already red from crying. With one smooth motion, he kicked her in the head, opening a gash above her ear and immediately knocking her unconscious.

TBS TBS

At that moment, as Stripes lay beaten and out cold on the floor of a mafia warehouse, the McManuses and Rocco were taking her spare key from the lose tile in front of her door and rushing inside. They smeared blood over every surface of her kitchen table after they had rummaged around the entire apartment for her iron. While she was imprisoned and being questioned about them, they were in her home cauterizing their wounds from Il Duce.

After the horrific deed had been done, the three men sat around the table, absently watching the news and discussing Agent Smecker. Rocco took a drag on his cigarette and demanded, "Whose place is this anyway?"

"Stripes'," Connor answered. He vaguely wondered where she might be but then remembered it was Friday. With McGinty's the way it was, she probably wouldn't be home until three or four in the morning. He looked about and smiled when he saw that her green and black scarf had washed clean. He didn't see any traces of his blood on it anymore.

Rocco looked around him with new eyes. It was a step above where the McManuses had lived but not too far. It was still deep in South Boston, no doubt about it. The place was clean but it definitely wasn't new. The walls were peeling in some places and the carpet left something to be desired. It was about the cheapest legal apartment you could find. The only thing new in the place was the furniture. Well, the furniture and the books in the towering stacks that covered most spare surfaces.

He rose from the table, now interested in all that surrounded him. He grinned, sending a look back at his friends, before making his way across the open room. If someone wanted to put a name on it, he supposed the hole would be considered a studio apartment. The kitchen, living room, and bedroom were all one room; only the bathroom was separate. In fact, her queen size bed was right next to her recliner in front of the television. He reached what he assumed was her dresser and began opening drawers at random.

Murphy frowned, "Rocco, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Looking for her underwear!"

Connor got up and was across the room in seconds, which was a surprising feat considering the gunshot wound in his leg. He grabbed Rocco by the collar and threw him to the ground, "Hey, Stripes is letting us fuckin' stay here out of kindness. We're not gonna fuck with that kindness by invading her personal space!"

Murph nodded and laughed, "Aye, she gave _us_ the invitation, not you. She fuckin' hates you, man. You fuck with her underwear and she's gonna throw you down the fuckin' elevator shaft."

The next morning, they awoke early for church. It was only Saturday but that night was going to be big so they were going anyway. Connor and Murphy exchanged confused glances at the lack of Stripes. The latter McManus shrugged, "Maybe she stayed over at the bar." Connor nodded. That was plausible. They stifled their worry with planning. They were going to take out Papa Joe that night and they had to be ready.

TBS TBS

"I don't fucking know!" Stripes sobbed for the hundredth time. "I don't know when or if Rocco's going to hit you. It's not like you should worry anyway. He's an idiot! He couldn't successfully pull anything like this off by himself."

Papa Joe's eyes narrowed and he held his command for Geno to take another hit at her. "Are you saying that Rocco isn't alone? He has partners besides you?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed. Why couldn't he understand that she just didn't know?

Geno hit her in the shoulder, causing her to shriek in agony as her wound throbbed and the rungs of the chair's back dug into her skin again. "Do not yell at me. I am trying to think."

Her heaving sobs were the only sound in the room as Papa Joe paced back and forth, deep in thought. "Ah, I know now!" He turned to his now waiting men. "Geno and you three, you're coming back to the house with me. I'm going to get as many guys up there as I can. Rocco can't be alone. He has to have help, so we're going to be ready for him. Frankie, you watch the bitch and the ledger. I don't care what you do with her just don't kill her yet. If I don't get Rocco soon, I may have more questions."

He was already on his way out when she suddenly straightened in her chair, spitting out the blood that had been congealing in her mouth. "If anyone rapes me, then I'm not saying another word!" Her voice was still full of fear but the strength he hated so was fighting for control in it.

Papa Joe frowned but then conceded, "Fine! Frankie, don't touch her."

Frankie looked at her with clear dejection as they left. He had all but unzipped his pants as soon as Papa Joe had given him the order to stay.

She averted her eyes, looking anywhere but at him. She didn't want to see the leer coming toward her. Despite what his boss had ordered, she wasn't sure if Frankie could stand to stay away. She'd already bit his hand once while they waited for Papa Joe to return the night before. Frankie was not an attractive man by any standards. And given his lack of sparkling or even decent personality, there was no way he was getting any "satisfaction" from anyone but hookers and unwilling victims like herself.

Papa Joe had mentioned that it was almost five o'clock not too long before they left. It was going to be dark before long. If the previous night was any indicator, it wasn't likely that he would return soon. As she chanced a glance at Frankie, she wasn't sure if she considered that a good thing or a bad one.

Would she rather be beaten or raped?

As time passed, Frankie became more and more restless. First he cleaned his pistol. Then he ate a sandwich. Then he paced around, imitating Papa Joe for a while. Then he flipped through a large book she could only imagine was "the ledger." He even rummaged through her bag for a bit until he found her tampons. She knew it wasn't long before he said fuck it to his orders and came for her.

She was beginning to realize that fear was a useful thing to have. When you got the right kind, you noticed things in a much clearer way. Her fearful eyes moved from Frankie to her restraints tirelessly. She came to the conclusion that there was no way she was getting out of the handcuffs on her own. Each of her ankles had its own with the other end attached to a chair leg. She might be able to get those free if she tipped the chair to the side but there was no way to do that without Frankie noticing. Her hands were restrained with a single pair of handcuffs. The good news was she wasn't attached to the chair. The bad news was her shoulder was in too bad of shape to really do much without her legs free first. She was stuck.

There was one way she could think of but it scared her. The one way she could maybe get free was if Frankie did actually try and rape her. In order to spread her legs enough, he'd have to get her feet off of the chair. Then she might be able to incapacitate him by some sort of miracle.

Answering her prayers and deepest fears, she was proven correct when it came to Frankie. Not long after finding nothing of interest in her purse, he sat on a chair and stared at her. She determinedly refused to meet that gaze. Before she knew it, he had kicked her chair over and began grabbing a knife and cutting at her shirt. She hadn't counted on him having a knife…

"Fuck," he swore. "Papa Joe's not here."

He threw her scarf across the room, soon sending her t-shirt after it. She made the semblance of fighting back just enough so he would realize there was no access with her restrained. It didn't take him long. He fumbled to get the cuffs off the legs of the chair for a moment. With that impediment gone, he righted her chair and began tugging at her jeans. He ignored her sobs, trusting the knife he held to the side of her neck would be enough to subdue her.

Just as he looked up from unbuttoning them, he caught the anger in her eyes. With a scream of pain and rage, she kicked him in the crotch with all her might.

His scream was quite possibly louder than hers. He remained standing, grasping her chair for support as he tried to swallow down his rising supper. Before he could recover, she kicked him again. This time he fell writhing to the ground and lie there for a moment in pain before passing out.

She bit her lip hard as she bit back a scream that might wake him. That knife he'd held had done its job. She could feel the shallow but long slice along her bottom hairline a definite six inches from her right ear and back. She felt as if she finally understood what being scalped felt like. She held in her screams and attempted to breathe deeply. As soon as she stopped convulsing, she worked her feet up onto the chair. She then stood up upon the seat, completely freeing herself from the chair.

She jumped quickly down and sat on the floor. She worked through the pain in her shoulder as she brought her body through the loop her arms made. With her hands finally in front of her, she grabbed Frankie's knife and cell phone. She shoved both in her bag. She pulled off her boots and the handcuffs with them. She didn't want to be clanking down the street. Without further delay, she grabbed her bag and "the ledger" and sprinted from the room and then the building.

It was pitch black when she met fresh air for the first time in twenty-four hours. She had no idea where she was either… It seemed as if she was in some sort of warehouse district. That could only mean the South side. Wherever she was, she couldn't stay. With only adrenaline for motivation, she began running in the opposite direction of that warehouse.

Despite the darkness, the general look of the buildings began to look familiar. She was getting away from the warehouses and into the residential district. She had Frankie's cell phone but Papa Joe had said he had friends in the police. She wasn't going to call 911.

That left only one thing to do when lost in an Irish neighborhood in the dead of night, bleeding and dying. She staggered through the door of the first bar she came to that had Mc or O' at the beginning of its name.

O'Brien's was filled to the brim, not surprising on a Saturday night. At first, no one moved or spoke as she came through the door. She clung to it like a life preserver as she gasped, "Where's the nearest hospital?"

As her words registered, every man in the establishment rushed forward. An older man reached her first. He snatched her bag from her shoulder and handed it to a younger man that looked almost exactly like him. Without saying a word, he picked her up and ran with her bridal style to a pick-up half a block down the street. The younger man followed.

She dozed in and out of consciousness as she felt the truck start and then begin to move. The bright lights of the ER shocked her awake as she was laid on a gurney. The young man put her bag at her feet. As nurses and doctors swarmed, she smiled weakly at the two men, "Thank you."

As she was wheeled down the hall, her hand found her bag. She gripped it with all the strength she had left as she saw a needle in her arm and the felt the numbness of morphine take over her mind.

When she awoke, all that registered was that she was incredibly, painfully stiff. She blinked open her eyes and surveyed what she could of her injuries. Her shoulder was encased in bandages and was in a sling once again. Her torso was not bandaged but she could feel the bruises blossoming on her back. She didn't have the want or motivation to pull up the scrub top the hospital had put on her to check. What felt like stitches were holding her neck together, pulling painfully whenever she turned her head. She thought she felt some on the cut Papa Joe's shoe had given her as well.

All in all, she thanked God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary that she was alive and didn't have a mirror.

To her surprise, her bag was still firmly in her grasp. She worked her sore shoulder until she pulled the bag into her lap. She rummaged around in it until she found Frankie's cell phone. She stared at it for a moment, wondering who to call. She knew who she _wanted_ to call. But then she knew who she _had_ to get a hold of. She needed that FBI agent, Smecker.

She'd never even gotten a glance at his card, so she hadn't the faintest idea what his number was. She did the next best thing. She pressed zero and waited for the operator to pick up. "_Hello?"_ came her bland voice.

She had to clear her throat a few times to get it strong enough for the other woman to hear, "I-I need to be connected to the 6th precinct station of the Boston Police Department."

"_Please hold while I connect you._"

There was a short pause and then a tired sounding man came over the phone, "Hello, this is the Boston Police Department 6th Precinct. Det. Greenly speaking."

Greenly? Papa Joe had said Mitchell so she took a chance on this Greenly. "Ummm, yes, I need to speak to Agent Smecker, please."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll have him on in a moment. May I ask why you're calling?" She didn't even want to wonder why an FBI agent was still at the station at eleven thirty at night.

"I…I was…I was just kidnapped and tortured by Papa Joe Yakavetta of the Italian mob…"

There was shocked silence on the other end. She faintly heard, "Sm-Sm-Smecker it's for you!"

A different voice responded, "Hello?"

"Agent Smecker?"

"Yes…" His voice sounded wary.

"You probably don't remember me but I was the woman who came into the station with the McManus brothers earlier in the week. I…I was just kidnapped by the Yakavetta family. I-I'm sorry but he said he had an informant in the police and-and you helped them and I-I don't know what to do right now…"

She was greeted for a moment by the same shock. However, Smecker quickly recovered, "You're the one the McManuses call Stripes, correct?" At her confirmation, he continued, "All right, where are you?"

"St. Cecilia's Hospital in South Boston."

"Give me twenty minutes to get there. What's your name?"

"Well, I don't think they have my name. I'm probably just neck laceration girl."

"Okay, you hold tight. We'll be there soon."

"Sir, please don't bring an officer named Mitchell…"

There was another long pause, "Okay."

TBS TBS

She had just drifted off only to have Frankie's face loom behind her eyelids when Smecker and three detectives pulled back her curtain. They swiftly pulled it closed behind them, even looking about beforehand to make sure no one had followed them she assumed.

Smecker's eyes widened when he took his first look at her. He remembered her from the last time he saw her. He didn't even find women attractive but this woman had still been pretty. Not that she was ugly now but the purple color that covered the entire right side of her face was not pleasant. Someone had pulled her black hair back into a ponytail for her to keep it away from the disinfectant, easily showcasing the grotesque cut behind her ear. A few inches lower and forward and…

She attempted to give him a smile, "They said the swelling will go down soon so I'm sorry for looking scary."

He fiercely shook his head, "Oh no. You're alive and that in and of itself makes you gorgeous right now." He sat on the foot of her bed and, after learning her name, proceeded in asking her every question he had about her ordeal from when she'd been kidnapped to what Papa Joe asked her to what her problem with Mitchell was.

Smecker had just finished when she reached for her bag, "There's one more thing." She laid Frankie's knife and cellphone in her lap and then pulled out the book she had taken. "I'm not sure what this is exactly. I haven't looked but Papa Joe kept referring to it as the ledger."

He froze and looked at her with hopeful eyes, "You're sure? They called it 'the ledger'?"

She nodded, "Yeah, whenever he left he told Frankie to guard it and me both. He seemed to be really on edge about it. Is it important?"

Smecker's face said that he had just found the Holy Grail. "Oh Miss Sandler, you have no idea how important this is. This book right here holds the records of everything the Yakavetta family has done since Papa Joe came to power. Each boss has his own ledger and this is Papa Joe's. This is everything I need to take down the entire family. If I wasn't gay I would kiss you right now."

She tried to laugh but it came out strained, "Since you would find that unpleasant, could I just go home?"

"Of course, I'll check you out with the hospital. Are you going to need protection tonight?"

She shook her head, "I don't think so. They grabbed me at school very publicly, meaning they probably don't know where I live, right. I'd really much rather be alone tonight, if you don't mind."

He nodded, "I understand. I probably wouldn't want to be around strange men tonight either. If you need anything here's my card. Duffy, Dolly, take the unmarked car and take her to wherever she says home is. Pick up her meds from the desk first. Greenly, come with me."

Within moments, Stripes had been covered up with Duffy's suit coat and Dolly was carrying her bag out to a black Ford sedan. She crawled into the back, taking her bag and hugging it to her chest. The drive was short and before she knew it, she was walking toward her building with both detectives on her heels. She dug out her keys and smiled at them after they had pushed the door of the elevator up and ridden with her to her third floor. She stepped off and handed Duffy his coat back, "Thank you."

"Are you sure there's nothing more you need, ma'am?"

She shook her head, "No, thank you so much, but I just need a warm shower and my own bed." They nodded, looking over the battered woman once again and suddenly understanding. She waited until the elevator had returned them to the first floor before going to her door.

She put the key in the lock and slipped inside. She slid and bolted every single lock on that door before turning around and breaking into gut-wrenching sobs, sliding down her front door to the floor. She smoothed back her ponytail in a nervous habit and tried in vain to stop crying.

Seconds later, she screamed when a light clicked on in her living room.


	5. Three McManuses & A Stripes

Why hello, everyone. So, there aren't a ton of reviews but there's plenty of people reading according to my traffic stats so I'm a happy camper. If you do have any thoughts, drop me a review. I love hearing what people think and making my writing better.

Also, somebody asked what the change in POV was about between the Prologue and next chapter. That just kind of happened because it felt right. I guess you could call the third person flashback if you wanted. Whenever things are from Stripes' point of view, it's like an indicator that a new part/section of the story is coming up. It just felt right to make big transitions, intros, etc. with her thoughts. Once again, thanks for reading and apologies for the horribly long author's note. :)

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><p>Stripes' scream caught in her throat mid-screech when she looked through her tears to find two concerned McManus brothers on their feet and quickly approaching. Her eyes widened and she clumsily scampered to her feet. Immediately forgetting every injury, her first genuine smile in the past twenty-four hours spread across her face. She was so happy to see them! "Connor! Murphy!"<p>

She internally wondered when and how she'd become so attached to them? She should probably get around to telling them her name, but it was so fun teasing them. It had started as mere shyness, her general distrust of anyone unknown, but by then it was as close as she'd gotten to an inside joke in a long while.

Her excitement quickly died as she took in the blood on their faces and the empty holsters at their sides. Her then fearful eyes shot around the room and found the pistols to fill the holsters on her kitchen table. She backed herself into the corner, not wanting to believe what her eyes told her but her fear rising like a tidal wave anyway.

Were they here to kill her? Had Papa Joe sent them after her? Did _they_ work for the mob? Is that why they hadn't shown up for work that week? Were they going to take her back to him? And who was the older man sitting in her recliner? Why them? Of all people who'd caused her pain, why did it have to be them next?

She couldn't believe it but what else made sense…?

The silence continued, broken only by her shallow sobs and breathing, until she pleaded, "Please, don't take me back! I already told Papa Joe I don't know anything about Rocco. Don't take me back, please, just kill me…"

Both brothers stood paralyzed, trying to take in not only her battered appearance but also words. Da rose silently and knelt down in front of her, his face softening as he gently held her less bruised cheek in his hand. "Lass, we're not going to hurt ye. We aren't with the mob. I swear it to Christ in Heaven."

She searched his face with watery green eyes for a long moment before nodding. His gray eyes, so like Connor and Murphy's, weren't going to hurt her. He smoothly helped her to her feet to find his sons still staring, frozen and speechless. She followed his gaze. Not really wanting to have to explain the last five minutes to Connor and Murphy and grasping at anything slightly normal in the entire situation, she turned to the older man and held out her right hand. Her smile was small but sincere, "Hi, nice to meet you."

He returned the gesture and smile, "Aye, lass, the same to you and thank you for letting us stay. I'm Noah McManus. And ye?"

She leaned on her tiptoes and whispered her name in his ear. At his confusion, she replied quietly, "I'm making them work it. So, are you their dad?"

"Aye, I'm their da. Ye look like you've had a bad night, lass."

It was painfully clear that she'd had much more than that. With her sling, two black eyes, swollen cheek, that nasty looking slice on her neck, and who knew how many other injuries, he knew she'd been through the ringer with what sounded like the mob. He noticed she kept her head down, too, clearly embarrassed about her appearance and condition. His Irishman anger flared at the thought of those ingrates hurting a woman but he kept it down. She didn't need anger at the moment. She needed someone calm. They'd get her story later when she wasn't jumping at shadows.

Her response was half laugh and half sob, "You could say that..." She lifted her bag off the floor and made to set it on her table. It fell to the ground with a dull thud as she froze, taking in the gruesome sight again. She wondered vaguely when her voice would stop shaking like a leaf as she asked, "Why is my kitchen table covered in blood and firearms?"

She looked up to notice again the blood covering the McManuses' faces. Her heart stopped as she looked them up and down after stepping toward them. Connor had a hole in his jeans, surrounded by more blood. The way he stood showed he favored the leg, too. Murphy's left sleeve was torn and she could see puckered, wounded skin underneath. Before they had a chance to answer, she was a flurry of movement.

Forgetting the table, the bag, and her embarrassment, she spun around and slammed on the hot water. She began rummaging through drawers with her good arm until she found two washcloths. After wetting them both, she went up to Murphy who was closest and started wiping the blood away from a cut on his forehead. "You guys look terrible. What happened to you? Is…" her voice faltered once again as she glanced to the table, "Is that your blood?"

For the first time since she walked in, Connor and Murphy's gazes moved away from her. They exchanged one of their twin looks. "Aye, it's ours." She visibly paled and began wiping off Murphy more diligently, examining him for any other obvious wounds.

Connor continued his twin's train of thought, "But stop fuckin' worrying about us. What happened to you?"

Right after he said it, Connor noticed the worried look on Da's face. Both he and Murphy frowned in confusion at him. Their father mouthed "_not yet" _to them but the damage was already done.

She all but jumped away from Murphy. They'd asked and then she'd have to tell them. She didn't think she wanted to tell them… Quickly and silently, she placed the washcloth in his hand and then handed the other one to Connor. "Sorry, I was acting like your Ma again. I-I can't help it. It must be some maternal instinct thing. I just hate seeing you guys hurt…"

She swallowed down a sob before looking up at them. Her smile was so forced it was painful to see as she backed away. "You guys can have the bed and take whatever you want from the fridge. I-I'm sorry there's no beer in there… I think there's some pudding though. If…If you'll excuse me for a while…"

She made to rush past them but Da grabbed her arm and pulled her back. He put a finger under her chin and made her raise her eyes to meet his. "Lass, running away from us isn't going to keep you from explaining. We're not going to hurt ye. We promise."

"Aye, and Connor's just being a fuckin' idiot here. It's not that we actually mind you acting like our Ma when we're hurt. Ow!" Murphy glared at Connor after being punched in the arm.

She had to let out a watery giggle at their antics when Connor protested, "I'm not a fuckin' idiot. Christ!" She smiled further as he instinctively crossed himself after his outburst. "I'm just fuckin' worried! I mean, no offense Stripes, but you look…not good."

She gave them a real smile as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "Really, Conn. Do you say that to all the girls? And Murphy, be nice to your brother."

"Aye, Ma!" Da laughed heartily as Murphy and Connor both groaned. "If ye start pranking us like her, everything's off!"

Connor gave her a look, "Aye." Nevertheless, they stepped forward together, wrapped their arms around her shoulders, squeezed, and kissed her temples. The gesture made her smile and start crying at the same time. It was so nice that someone actually cared! As the tears flowed freely, she wondered when she'd become as emotional as a pregnant woman. It also didn't help that Connor's arm was resting on her cut.

With a strangled voice she whispered, "Conn! Conn, sweetie, I'm injured there…"

His pulled his arm away so fast it was like her comment had physically burned him. "What the fuck is that?" She was silent and he demanded in a surprisingly pleading voice, "Stripes, what the fuck happened to you?"

She tried to smile, but it didn't quite grow to fruition and came out more as a grimace. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

To her surprise, that caused both to back away. Throwing her wary looks, they then looked at each other and then to their Da. The older man sighed but then sent a nod and a resigned smile her way. "The lass has the right to know. She'll be the one aiding and abetting if we get caught here."

She frowned at the term 'aiding and abetting'. What exactly had these guys been up to? She trusted them. Only God knew why but she did, implicitly. She really couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather have with her right now. She silently thanked God that there wasn't an Irish mob in Boston. She'd just trust one of them without even thinking. What was it with Irishmen?

The twins looked at each other and then back at her. "Do ye want to go first?"

"Aye, ours will take longer," Connor elaborated.

"All right, but I have two conditions, please." At their collective nod she continued, "One, you let me put on some pajamas. I'm still in yesterday's clothes and…I'm tired of smelling like blood… Two, when I'm done you don't get up and go kill anyone."

The air temperature felt like it dropped twenty degrees. Yet again, the brothers exchanged a glance and seemed to hold an entire conversation in it. She wondered if they even realized they did it anymore. That thought got lost somewhere though as she was confronted by three intense stares. Connor voice was harder than she'd ever heard it, save the Russian incident, "What makes you say that, Stripes?"

Her confusion indicated her innocence before she even answered. She struggled with her expression for a minute, trying to put her feeling into words without sounding self-important. "Well, you're _Irish!_ And you're you! You almost killed Rocco that time he slapped my butt in the bar." She noticed them stiffen at the mention of their Italian friend but she continued, "Guys, I just got…tortured. The Irishmen in the bar I staggered into bleeding to death looked like they were going to go on a rampage and they didn't even know me...I-I don't know. It felt like I needed to cover my bases there..."

She looked at them, begging them to understand. Da stepped forward between his sons, "Aye, lass, sounds like a deal."

She looked to both Murphy and Connor, "You promise?" They nodded silently. Da put a hand on her shoulder before reclaiming his seat in her recliner. His sons followed suit, making themselves comfortable on her bed.

She made her way to her dresser and began searching for suitable pajamas. She grabbed a sports bra, clean underwear, and a black tank top that was about a size and a half too big. She wanted as little as possible actually touching her shoulder and back. After a bit more rummaging she pulled out her comfort pants that she wore on ice cream eating, chick flick watching, and self-pitying period days. They were bright blue and fuzzy with polar bears. No matter how much her life sucked, those pants made her smile.

Even as she put them in the pile on her dresser they made her smile. She clumsily gathered her jumble and made her way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with her foot. She made it through changing her lower half perfectly fine but her wounded shoulder was accepting no movement after she removed her sling. Her arm hung uselessly as she fought her way out of the scrubs top.

She growled in frustration as she saw the bandage darken with blood once again. Reaching her good arm back she struggled to get a hold of her bra clasp. Every time she arched her back enough to get a hold of it, she had to let go as pain spasmed through her shoulder and neck. After a few worthless minutes of that, she gave up and decided she needed help, Tylenol, and bras that clasped in the front.

Reaching into her medicine cabinet by the shower for Tylenol was easy enough. She put some water in her mouthwash cup and swallowed down two. It was the asking for help she wasn't sure about. Yes, she trusted the McManuses. Yes, she considered them her friends—even Noah despite knowing him for all of twenty minutes. Yes, she knew they would never take advantage of her. No, she did not want to walk out into the room and ask for help taking off her bra.

She groaned once again, leaning her forehead on the wall before opening the door. Without making herself visible, she asked, "Guys…Which one of you has had the most girlfriends?"

There was complete silence for a moment before she could hear both Murphy and Connor respond with, "Me!" She heard scuffling and wasn't surprised to hear them begin to bicker. "Murph, Fiona Flannery does not fuckin' count. You were in kindergarten!"

"Fuck off, Conn. Ye know ye're counting Sarah Laughlin!"

That continued for a while more when Da cut them off. "Boys, stuff it! She's getting' at something else here besides yer romantic exploits. Why do ye ask, lass?"

Her voice wasn't much more than a whisper when she replied clearly embarrassed, "Because I can't…Because I can't unhook my bra by myself. And I need somebody who isn't going to kill me undoing it." She heard a snort and glared around the door casing, "Shut up, Murphy! Connor, don't even start!" She imagined that they tried but the brothers began laughing hysterically.

Before either could raise himself from the bed, Da had stood and made his way to the bathroom door. Not commenting about her bright crimson blush before she turned, he said lightly, "I don't know if I've had more girlfriends than those two but I've been married if that counts for anything."

At least, his voice was light until he took in the sight of her back. Every hit she'd taken had contributed to the dark purple stripes of bruises lining her back. The sight of them caused an abrupt halt to the twins' laughter. "Lass, what happened there?"

She couldn't keep the quiver out of her voice as she replied, "I was in a chair and the back had rungs…" After he gently parted the tiny hooks of her bra, she gave him a weak smile, "Thanks." She disappeared into the bathroom once again. When she emerged, all was covered, her sling was back in place, and she held her hair up in one hand.

She immediately noticed that their holsters were gone, probably under the bed. Tears pricked her eyes at the act to make her feel better—safer. She silently crossed the room and crawled up between Murphy and Connor on her bed. "Does one of you know how to braid?"

Connor smirked, "Ye're asking us?" Murphy contributed his bit by merely chuckling.

Rolling her eyes, she groaned and retorted, "Why couldn't God have made one of you a girl and made my life ten times easier! You're already fraternal; just make the question of who's got the bigger cock into simply who has one. I'd have a braider and you guys would know who's older."

That stunned them into silence long enough for Da to begin chuckling. Murphy sighed, "Fine, teach me how and I'll braid it for you. But this doesn't make me the younger twin."

Connor smirked, "The hell it doesn't."

She glared at him, "Connor, be nice to your brother." Murphy made a triumphant face as Conn shook his head and laughed. After giving Murphy Braiding 101, she fell silent, not quite sure when or where to start with telling them what had happened. She was still quiet by the time he finished with her hair. She smiled weakly back at him, "Thanks, Murph."

He and Conn did their twin look and the latter said gently, "Whenever you're ready, Stripes."

She sighed, pulling her feet under her and getting her thoughts sorted. "They took me yesterday. I spent the morning helping Doc pack up the bar until I had to go to class. I got done with Dark Ages Irish History and was walking across the parking lot with two other people who're in class with me. Two cars pulled up, they pointed guns in my face and threw me into the trunk. My-my classmates didn't make a move to help me… I don't even know if they called the police."

She still couldn't decide if she was angry, disappointed, or just sad about that fact. When the Russian had been about to kill Murphy, she didn't need to think before trying to help. It was natural to her. Stupid perhaps but natural.

She abandoned that train of thought with a sigh. "When they opened the trunk, Papa Joe Yakavetta was there staring down at me and had a gun to my head. They handcuffed me to a metal chair in some warehouse. It was weird; Papa Joe kept asking me about Rocco of all people. I mean Rocco as in your friend. Papa Joe thought he'd been killing off his people. He was in a huge uproar about it. He kept screaming at me and asking when Rocco was going to hit him and how to find him." Taking a deep breath, she blinked back tears, "You know, for a scrawny guy he hits hard."

All three McManuses had tensed. Even though she was staring at the floor, she could feel their eyes on her. Needing to get away from it for at least a moment, she slid off the bed and continued, "He and his minions left after a few hours. I assume he left one of them named Frankie to guard me. He kicked me in the head so hard I didn't wake up until today. This morning was the same thing." She paused only as she opened her freezer, grabbed a carton of ice cream and then a spoon. She didn't bother with a bowl. "He came back on and off throughout the day. He left Frankie there every time. It was tonight that things got rough…"

She curled up on the bed in between them once more; eating her ice cream so diligently Connor wondered how it was she didn't die of a brain freeze. Brain freeze or not, the ice cream seemed to give her the courage to continue. "Papa Joe came back and was all out convinced that Rocco was going to try and take him out tonight. Again, I was miraculously supposed to know when and how. He had his guy Geno 'work' on me…That's when my shoulder was re-wounded. Something I said sparked his imagination, I guess, because he jetted out of there with his guys. He was screaming and yelling about his house and Il Duce finishing his contract. Then, it was just Frankie and me again.'

"Papa Joe had told him not to touch me because I said I wouldn't tell him anything else if somebody raped me." The expressions that flashed across the boys' faces clearly said they found the word rape akin to insulting their mother. It was profanity of the highest degree. They hated the act so much they couldn't even stand the word. Their reactions split her feelings once again. Their hatred for the act made her feel that much safer. Yet, that hatred was going to be ignited in the next part of her story…

"It was okay for a while. Frankie left me alone and I could focus on something else. But…Frankie…Frankie isn't one to keep his pants on when there's a restrained woman in the room. He-he came for me… I managed to take him down so then I grabbed my bag, his phone, his knife, and something called the ledger and ran."

"I didn't know where I was so I didn't call 911. I figured that it was Saturday night so the best place to find help was a bar. I ran into the first Irish one I could find and some guy and his son drove me to the hospital. They bandaged me up there and when I woke up, I called that FBI guy who helped you, Agent Smecker. He got me checked out of the hospital and his detectives drove me here. Then I came in my door and found you guys…"

There was a silence so heavy and a tension so great that she finally realized the truth behind the proverbial elephant in the room. An eternity later, Murphy asked, "Stripes…what did he do to you before you took him out?"

She began another battle against sobs when she continued, "He cut off my shirt and then put the knife to my neck. It-It actually worked in my favor though because he-he had to release my legs in order to do anything. As soon as he did, I nailed him in the balls…twice. It was n-nice to see him writhing on the ground until he passed out but…his knife got me when he went down. That's what happened to my neck."

Sobbing hysterically, she threw her ice cream to the ground as she dropped her head in her hand. Even as the snot began running down her arm, she couldn't stop to catch her breath. Two arms wrapped around her after a moment and she unconsciously leaned into them, burying her face in Connor's chest and hanging onto his neck for dear life. She felt him kiss the top of her head as she stuttered out, "I was so scared… He-he was leering at me and…and he was going to-to…"

"Nobody's ever going to do that to ye again," he promised. She nodded her head against him, feeling like she was being a baby for crying and latching onto him but not worrying about it enough to even consider letting go.

He was warm, strong, and gentle. She felt safe and cared for there in Connor's embrace. She'd felt the same thing just being in the apartment with the three of them but being held like that cemented it for her. It was palpable and constant. He didn't seem at all uncomfortable with it so her expected embarrassment was kept at bay.

The bed shifted as Murphy leapt off of it. His accent was thick with anger when he shouted from the kitchen, "I'm going to find him and fuckin' kill the motherfucker. He's going to fuckin' die! I'm going to fuckin' shoot him in the fuckin' head."

Da was up and next to his son before she had time to realize he'd moved. He grabbed both of Murphy's guns but it was Connor who said pointedly, "We promised her, Murphy."

The dark-haired McManus sighed heavily before Stripes called gently, "Murph, you have to stay here and bicker with Conn and flirt tactlessly with me so I laugh and don't dehydrate from crying." When he sat down again, she gave him a smile from where she continued to hide in Connor's arms.

She was allowed to recover for a few more minutes in silence before Da asked, "Why did they take ye, lass? Did Papa Joe say anything of why they grabbed ye?"

"Yeah, he did actually." Sending him a quick glance, she reached out her hand and intertwined her fingers with Murphy's to keep him from bolting again. She was tired but she held on tight before she continued. "He has an informant in the police department. There's an officer named Mitchell who was there the day after St. Patty's. He remembered me for some reason. I don't think he had anything else to give Papa Joe, so he just gave him my name."

Da seemed to digest that for a moment and silence fell over them. Taking a deep breath, she slid from Connor's lap and grabbed her ice cream from the floor. Deciding she'd just clean up what had melted onto the floor tomorrow, she resituated herself. She leaned back against Connor, resting her head on his shoulder, grabbed Murphy's hand and brought it over to hold the hand in her sling, then put her ice cream in lap.

Under normal circumstances, she would be hard-pressed to find the courage to hold Murphy's hand, even though it was only in a friendly way. She was shy when it came to men. She knew it was pathetic and most definitely irrational but it was the way she was. She was afflicted with stage fright and, in the words of Shakespeare, the world was a stage.

But the events of the night had changed things. The McManuses were trusted and good and she needed to know she wasn't alone. No matter how out of character her actions were, they felt right. Neither Murphy nor Connor objected, so she went with it. Her embarrassment was kept at bay. When she looked at the three of them again she wasn't quite smiling but wasn't scared to death either. She asked with a forced nonchalance, "So, who shot you?"

Whereas the silence before had been for her sake, that one that followed her question was for tension's sake.

"That would be me, lass."

She immediately began choking on the brownie piece in her throat. After hacking it back into the ice cream carton, she demanded, "What?"

Da smiled rather blandly, as if its only purpose was to reassure her, "Boys, we're really going to have to start at the beginning. Lass, before this day I have only seen me boys once and that was the day they came kicking and screaming at each other from their Ma. I was arrested when I came back here and I've been in prison for the last twenty-five years. I didn't know what they looked like or that they had even left home."

There was a surprising amount of emotion in his voice, at least from what she'd noticed of him so far. He was a keep feelings close to the chest kind of man, like Connor. You always knew what Murphy was feeling. But that confession bothered Da. She could read the guilt on his face. While it was clear to her, she didn't think his sons saw it. They seemed a bit too blinded by happiness at the fact that he was in their lives again, no matter the circumstances.

She nodded that she understood, waiting for someone to continue. "Well, lass, as it happens I'm the Il Duce you heard Papa Joe talking about. He paid for me to get parole. My contract was to kill whoever was killing his guys." She made to protest but he held up a hand, "I know what ye're thinkin', lass. I only worked for the mob when it involved killing their own. I wasn't a payroll hit man."

She nodded, feeling better about that at least. Remembering Papa Joe's face when he'd mentioned Il Duce, a ghost of a smile spread across her face. "You scare him out of his mind, you know. I swear, he was about ready to wet himself when you were brought up. It was the best part of being kidnapped."

Da chuckled, "I do what I can, lass."

"Okay," she clarified out loud, "so you were hired to kill somebody killing the mob. I'm still confuzzled, though. How does that add up to you shooting you guys?" She switched her gaze from Da to Connor and Murphy who had remained surprisingly silent the entire time. Gaining some semblance of strength now that the topic of conversation was off of herself, she prodded, "How are you guys involved here?"

"Well…we're the Saints."

She frowned up at Connor, "Well, yeah, I know. I read the newspaper article about you guys on Tuesday after the whole thing with the Russians. What's that have to do with anything?"

"Stripes," Murphy squeezed her hand, "it wasn't just Rocco taking out Papa Joe's men. It was mostly us."

Her spoon paused on its way to her mouth. Catching herself, she hastily put it back in the carton. She looked first at Murphy and then up at Connor. She smiled, though it wasn't a happy smile. It was a smile that said she was confused and wasn't sure whether to be scared about the fact she had three murderers in her home or not. "You have my undivided attention. And for the love of my sanity, please use it to explain to me why I shouldn't consider you all murderers and have that fact debilitate me for the rest of my life where trusting men is concerned." At their silence she pleaded, "_Please_."

They looked at each other and then at the same moment, Murphy squeezed her hand and Connor wrapped an arm around her waist. "It kind of started with ye actually, Stripes," Connor began. "If ye hadn't stepped in I would've lost me brother. Ye saved Murphy's life, not me. And ye didn't even fuckin' have to."

She frowned, voice laced with confusion when she objected, "Of course I did. He was going to kill Murph. I couldn't just stand by and watch."

Murph nodded, "Aye, but there aren't enough fuckin' people who think like you do. Smecker couldn't believe that ye weren't our close friend. He said he hadn't seen anything fuckin' like you in years."

"So, I'm a freak of human nature. What's that's have to do with you going around killing mobsters with Rocco the Italian Knucklehead?"

Murphy sucked in a sharp breath, "Stripes, I know ye didn't fuckin' like him but lay off for me, please." His eyes were so pained that she nodded apologetically. She'd forgotten how close Murphy was to Rocco. Murphy wasn't the type to notice your faults once he decided he liked you. He liked you and that was enough for undying loyalty. She knew that if Rocco ever made a poke at her, Murph would do the same thing for her.

Connor gently squeezed her side so she would look at him, "Okay, for starters, ye are not a freak. Ye're just an angel compared to the average fuckin' person. And, the rest of it kinda goes like this…"

He and Murphy took turns explaining the events of the last week from their shared dream to the Russian syndicate boss to Rocco's involvement all the way up to that night. She sat in rapt attention, paling and gasping whenever they got hurt, even Rocco. They wisely omitted the part her iron and stove had played. Her eyes welled up when they told her of Rocco's death by Papa Joe's hand. She tightly squeezed Murphy's hand when Connor had to tell that part to save his twin's manly dignity from crying.

When they had finished, Connor caught her gaze, "So, what do ye think?"

Blinking back tears, she asked shakily as if she hadn't even heard his question, "So, you didn't get Papa Joe?"

Murphy shook his head, "No, there were too many of them. We're guessing he fuckin' left as soon as he murdered Rocco."

"So, you didn't think there'd be that many of them waiting for you."

"No, it was fuckin' overkill for thinking it was just Rocco, wouldn't ye say Da?"

The older man nodded to Connor without taking his eyes off of the woman in front of him. Something was up with her. He could see it in the way she began shaking and refused to make eye contact. It was like she'd had a sudden epiphany.

"Oh my God…" Stripes scurried back to her headboard, suddenly breathing heavily and looking unpleasantly pale. She hung her head between her legs, sobbing and mumbling, "Oh my God!"

After a heavy twin look, Connor placed a hand on her leg, "Stripes, we get it if this bothers ye. We'll leave."

"NO!"

They only caught her frantic expression for a moment before she shot to the bathroom. The three of them were blindsided by her reaction and could only sit as they heard her throwing up. The twins instinctively looked to their father, "Da?" He'd seemed to know what to do before.

He shook his head, however, "I don't know, boys."

They looked at each other and then rose at the same time. After knocking gently on the open door, they looked in to find her collapsed in front of her toilet, forehead on the seat and heartbreaking sobs racking her body. Murphy knelt in front of her and put a hand on her shoulder, "Stripes?"

"I killed him, Murph. It's my fault."

"Who?"

"Rocco. And you two got hurt tonight because of me." Her green eyes looked up at them, bleary with tears and guilt.

At Murphy's shocked silence, Connor broke in, "No, it's not. It's Papa fuckin' Joe's fault. He pulled the trigger and he gave the order to have so many guys there waiting for us."

This only elicited a shriek of grief from her as she hung her head and began banging it on the toilet lid. "You don't understand. _That's_ my fault! It's all my fault."

"Stripes, love, ye didn't even know what we were doing? How could it be yer fault?"

"Because I told Papa Joe that Rocco was too stupid to pull off killing him by himself. As soon as he heard me say it he decided Rocco had to have partners. That's when he ordered everyone but Frankie back to his house with him. If-if I hadn't said anything there wouldn't have been extra people and you guys wouldn't be caught and hurt and Rocco wouldn't be…dead!" She collapsed into sobs again. "It's my fault!"

Murphy immediately pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly even with her shoulder. "It's not yer fault. I promise it's not yer fault." Nodding into his shoulder that it was, she hugged him back. He pulled back after she'd caught her breath. He held her face in his hands. Voice thick with emotion and his accent, he said, "It's not yer fault. Rocco is dead because of fuckin' us, not ye. It was our fault for bringing him in. It will never, ever be yer fault."

He waited until she had cried herself out and nodded before helping her up. Connor kissed the top of her head as they all left her tiny bathroom. Da opened his eyes and asked with nonchalance, as if he hadn't heard the entire thing, "So, what do ye think, lass? Ye know what we're about now."

She shrugged, wiping her eyes with the bottom of her shirt, "Well, I _think_ I'm going to eat some of the pudding since I finished my ice cream." Da chuckled as she grabbed the empty carton, stuck the spoon in her mouth, and headed to the kitchen.

Connor and Murphy were disbelieving, "You're going to let us stay?"

She gave them a 'duh' kind of look, "Of course, Murph, for as long as you need. Hmm, I need groceries. I'll have to get some after church tomorrow."

Connor couldn't accept her blind faith in them yet. "Why, Stripes? We _kill_ people." He followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with arms crossed.

"No, Conn," she said resolutely without looking at him. "You don't kill _people_. You kill evil men who don't feel remorse. There's a difference."

"Would you feel that way if yesterday and today hadn't happened?"

She paused and let out a deep breath before turning to face him. She met his gaze unflinchingly, but he saw the tears in her eyes and heard the tremor in her voice, "I don't know, Conn, but I think so. I don't know why but I just can't believe that you guys would kill anyone who was innocent. You-you couldn't. You're not killing them because of revenge or greed or…or whatever else. You kill them because they're bad and they get away with it. It's like that saying, 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' You're good men."

Silence filled the space between them again.

Finally, she sighed and smiled, "Conn, don't make me explain why I trust you. I don't know why; I just do, you know."

He smiled after a moment, "Aye, I know."

"Besides, I don't know if I could survive alone right now…"

"You know," Murphy teased when she sat back down on the bed with a bowl of pudding, "if I didn't know fuckin' better, I'd say ye were pregnant. You're eating up a fuckin' storm, having crazy mood swings, _and_ throwing up."

Stripes had never been a particularly social person. Being social meant putting too much of oneself out there. However, there was something about the McManuses that made being herself effortless. Apparently, herself liked teasing Murphy.

After grinning at Connor, she turned to Murphy with a heartbroken expression, "Are-are you calling me fat?"

Conn and Da roared with laughter as Murphy flopped down and groaned, "Fuck!"

"It's because of the swelling isn't it? Murphy McManus, you think I'm _ugly_!"

"Dammit woman! Don't fuckin' do that to me. Ye're gorgeous and ye know it! Ye're such a fuckin' girl…"

TBS TBS

She felt Frankie's knife on her neck and smelled his pastrami breath before she saw him leering at her. Before she could blink, his face was right in hers and she could feel his breath on her skin. She could feel his hands tugging first at her shirt and then at her jeans. Her ankles were still handcuffed to the chair but somehow he'd gotten them off. No matter how much she struggled and pleaded, she couldn't get free. As he began to run his hand up her thigh, he began laughing just like Papa Joe.

"_When_?" Papa Joe demanded through Frankie. "_Don't lie_!"

"_I DON'T KNOW_!"

"Stripes, are ye okay?"

She opened her eyes to find herself sitting straight up in her bed in the consuming darkness. With a groan that came out more like a sob, she flopped back down only to cry out in pain as her shoulder was jarred, her neck pulled, her head began hurting and her back began throbbing. "Oh, screw my life," she moaned as Da switched the light on.

"Are ye all right, lass?" She nodded absently, trying to make her body stop throbbing in pain.

"Stripes, what was that?"

She turned her head to see two shirtless McManuses staring at her with concern. Avoiding the question, she sat up on her elbow to face them, "Why are you two on the floor?"

Murphy raised an eyebrow at her, "Where else are we going to sleep? Do ye have a hidden fuckin' room somewhere?"

"Sleep in the bed," she said naturally, her confusion overriding her pain for the time being.

"Aye, but ye're in the bed," he stated as if that explained everything.

"Guys, it's a queen size bed. I don't take up that much of it. You're as injured as much as I am."

"Stripes, why were you screaming 'I don't know' in your sleep?" Conn asked, getting back to the original subject. Leave it to one of them to always find a way back to what she didn't want to talk about.

She shuddered and answered quietly, "Because Frankie won't leave me alone…Will you guys _please_ sleep in the bed. You're making me sore just looking at you."

Connor opened his mouth and began protesting, backing up Murphy, when she curled up on her side as comfortably as she could—which wasn't very. Closing her eyes, praying that Frankie would be kept away this time, she declared sleepily yet with a decided element of begging, "Connor, Murphy, shut up and sleep with me."

Had she not sounded so sad and sleepy, Murphy wouldn't have been able to contain his amused snort of laughter.

Remembering what she'd said about surviving alone, Connor realized that she didn't want them to sleep in the bed with her entirely to make them more comfortable. That was part of it but she was scared and didn't want to admit it. Burying the overwhelming instinct to go find 'Frankie' and put a few bullets in him for all the pain he'd caused her, Connor kicked off his boots and approached the bed. He slid under the covers next to her, lying on his side to face her in the middle.

Murphy followed suit as soon as he had his boots off.

Feeling the safe warmth on either side of her, she smiled drowsily, "Thank you."


	6. Sunday

So, here's the next chapter. Thanks for reading and let me know if you've got thoughts! :)

* * *

><p>The first rays of sunrise spattered across Stripes' apartment early the next morning. Blinking against the light, she drowsily yawned, deciding to get a little more sleep before getting ready for church. She rolled over slightly only to collide with a man's chest. Her eyes shot open, immediately awake. She looked up to see Connor's sleeping face. Her racing heart slowed to a jog and she let out a breath. Thankfully she hadn't woken him up.<p>

She glanced behind her to see Murphy also sleeping soundly. Bracing her wounded arm, she sat up slowly so as not to wake them. The sight before her made her smile. She'd seen them drunk and rambunctious. She'd seen them angry and dangerous. She'd seen them kind and vulnerable. Right at that moment, however, she was seeing them innocent and five years old.

Connor had rolled onto his stomach in the night, head resting on his arm instead of the pillow. Murphy was sprawled out on his back, arm hanging over the side of the bed without a care. They both snored slightly, enough to be noticeable but still endearing.

They were also so very far from hard on the eyes. It felt odd to realize that since they felt like her brothers now—especially Murphy who had the obnoxious factor down perfectly—but it was true. Normal people didn't find their brothers attractive… Of course, they weren't her _real_ brothers so, maybe it didn't matter. No matter how weird her feelings, she loved them both to death.

Just sitting there watching them sleep made her feel strangely peaceful. She couldn't quite grasp why.

After a few moments, she glanced over to see Da doing the exact same thing. He nodded a good morning to her and she smiled back before both returned to their previous occupation. As the sun got a bit higher over the rooftops, she sighed. She needed to get to church. There were clouds on the horizon.

Maneuvering as quietly and lightly as she could, she jumped down off the bed with both brothers still asleep. She emerged from her bathroom dressed a few moments later, though with the same shirt. After getting into her gunshot wounded jacket, she put her sling back on and grabbed a warm, purple scarf. Da watched her in silence as she went to her nightstand and grabbed a black rosary from it, placing the beads reverently around her neck. He followed her into the kitchen and whispered, "Where ye going, lass?"

"Church," she replied while putting her keys in her pocket and pouring herself a glass of apple juice.

He frowned at the time on her microwave, "I think ye might be a tad bit early for 9 o'clock mass." It was only 7:26.

Shuffling from foot to foot nervously for a moment, she finally answered, "I kind of go to my own church, Noah. There's no priest to mind if I'm early. I only go to real mass on Christmas and Easter."

"Please, it's just Da. It'll help me get used to me boys calling me that. Do ye mind if I join ye?"

She smiled and shook her head, "Not at all. It's a really long walk, though, Da."

"I need to stretch anyways, lass." He put on his coat and hat while she wrote a note and placed it between the twins on the bed. She grabbed her billfold, slipped it in her pocket, and walked through the door Da held open for her.

They walked in silence, getting used to the early morning chill of March. He was the first to speak after a few blocks, "So, what can ye tell me about me boys, lass?"

She smiled shyly, "Not as much you'd think. I'm not the greatest when it comes to people."

"Ye could've fooled me, lass. Ye did exactly what they needed ye to last night."

"Right," she snorted. "Sobbing, crying, being emotionally unstable and a gigantic baby was what they needed."

"No, ye trusted them and listened to what they had to say without judging. Ye may not have known each other well but what ye thought was important to them. Ye turning them away the same night Rocco died would've killed them. I get the feeling that they're important to ye, too."

She fiddled with the end of her scarf as she nodded, "After the thing with the Russians, I just feel like I need to protect them, which is stupid since I don't know one part of a gun from another. It just kills me whenever they get hurt."

"Aye, I know the feeling. I'm guessing that's why you apologized for acting like their Ma."

She nodded, "Yeah, I did the same thing in the hospital after Connor jumped off the roof. They've always been so…well, nice to me, which is out of the ordinary. I found myself laughing more than worrying about the bullet in my shoulder the whole time. Usually, I can't even talk to men but there's just something about them that makes me feel…like me."

"So what is the 'thing with the Russians' and why in the name of God was Connor jumping off a roof?" She was surprised for a moment before remembering that he'd known Connor and Murphy for less time than she had. It was an odd feeling. She quickly explained that situation and he looked at her with an inscrutable expression for a moment. "I owe ye for saving me boy's life, lass."

"No you don't," she shook her head, "and neither does Connor. Conn did most of the work, anyway. If he hadn't done what he did, then my actions would have only postponed everything by a few seconds. It was Murphy that saved Connor after that. He got him to the hospital. I didn't do much."

Da smiled to himself. He got the feeling she wasn't too keen on attention being drawn to herself, positive or negative, so he wasn't going to push it. "Saving a life is a powerful thing, lass, and both me boys recognize that. They want to protect you as much as you want to protect them. So, what else can ye tell me about them?"

For almost a block she was silent, trying to think beyond just the obvious, before everything about them just kind of came out in a rush. "Well, they're always together. They're best friends. They protect each other. They're typical Irishmen when it comes to women: we're sacred. They'd stick up for me before I would even talk to them. They're also hilarious. Connor's the one to think things through as logically as possible. Murphy doesn't have to because his heart does his thinking for him…"

He hung upon her every word as she recounted almost every experience she had with them. They had just stepped onto Longfellow Bridge when she smiled, "You have good boys, Da. Better than any other men I've ever met."

"Thank ye, lass. So, where's this church of yours?"

She remained silent as she led him to one of the four towers that sat along the south side. Stopping and upturning her face to the sun, she answered, "Right here." Without another word, she crossed herself, and began murmuring, "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."

With no explanation as to why she came to a grubby bridge to say her prayers instead of a church, Da was awestruck for a moment. As he thought about it, though, it seemed to fit her. She was an unorthodox kind of lass. Following her lead, he bowed his head and folded his hands, too.

They stood there praying together in silence until the sun had risen fully into the sky.

TBS TBS

"Murphy, change the channel right now or I'll let Connor and Da drink all the Guinness I bought you this morning!" Stripes smacked his stomach for emphasis from where she sat between him and Connor once again. She didn't care how many men she was harboring, she was _not_ watching football on her Sunday!

He frowned at her, "Ye know for a shy person ye sure are fuckin' bossy."

She smirked at him over her cup of hot chocolate, "It's because I love you, Murph." He muttered something about their Ma before tossing the remote over to Connor. They flipped through the channels for a while before Connor smirked at his twin and stopped on a different NFL game. She groaned, "Oh, come on, guys. How can you like American football? You're Irish!"

"Hey," Connor laughed, "isn't that a _wee_ bit stereotypical?"

But she had frozen, eyes wide. Leaning across Connor, she put her cup on her nightstand and then leapt from the bed, "You're Irish! No, bad, bad, bad Irish!"

They exchanged a twin look, "Is there a problem with us being Irish, Stripes?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed distractedly as she shuffled around amongst a towering pile of books on her counter and then opened a laptop.

"Now ye're just trying to hurt our feelings," Murphy teased but she ignored them.

"No, no, no, no! I am so failed!" she cried as she began typing as quickly as she could with one hand. It was rather amusing to watch until she became so frustrated she tore off her sling. With two opposable thumbs once again, despite the pain in her shoulder, she began typing furiously in some document. Before she could get far, two hands grabbed her sides and spun her around. Two more held her head and her good arm still as her sling was put back on.

Just as she began to shrug them off, Connor's face appeared right in front of hers. "Stripes, calm down. Ye're going to hurt yerself and then ye're not going to get anything done. What's wrong?"

Letting out a deep breath, she explained with anxiety, "My Irish history classes. I have study questions for my Dark Ages class, a three page opinion for the High Middle Ages, and I've got 35 tests to grade for the general Irish history class I teach for my professor who's writing a book. I have to have all that done for tomorrow. After…_yesterday_ I completely forgot about all of it."

Dropping her head one of the book stacks, she groaned, "I'll never get finished. Stupid fuckin' mob."

Murphy looked over her head at Connor with a grin despite her situation. She'd been around them too long; she was starting to talk like them. Next she'd be saying 'aye.' Connor smiled back but kept the humor from his voice when he made her look at him again, "Stripes, it'll be fine. Can't you just tell them what happened? Won't they give you a break?"

Her expression clearly showed that she hadn't thought of that. However, she frowned soon after, shaking her head, "No, I can't tell them the truth. On the off chance…_they_ come looking for me again, I don't want anyone to be able to point me out that quickly. It's bad enough I can be recognized as the injured girl. Besides," she took on a dismayed expression, "I've never turned in anything late in my life…until now." Her head dropped to the books again.

Smiling at her growingly ever-present nerdiness, Connor consoled, "Aye, ye've got a lot to do but we'll help ye. Make us up a…a… Murph, what do you call them things the teachers grade with?"

"A key."

"Aye, a fuckin' key. Make us a key and we'll do the fuckin' tests. Fuck, we're from Ireland. We should know general history stuff, right?"

TBS TBS

"Conn, I fuckin' hate you for this," Murphy complained an hour later as he waded his way through another test essay question.

"Thanks for that helpful Irish disposition, Murph," she said sarcastically from the counter.

"Aye, it's because I love you, Stripes."

She smirked, "Would you rather write about the positively scintillating monastic life of Irish clergy in the 8th century?"

Visibly paling, he shook his head, "Aye, tests. I like tests. Hey, what is 'hair-a-ticks'?"

Not looking up from the book she was skimming through, she replied, "It's a testament to the failure that is the public education system of the United States. I think what they were going for was 'heretics'."

Laughing, Connor smacked his twin over the head, "Hey Murph, this one thinks that the Irish were led by a crazy man named Steven to battle the 'tyrannical' English at Falkirk and that's when we threw off our 'yoke of oppression'."

"That's fuckin' _Braveheart_," Murphy laughed, "Are all your students this stupid, Stripes?"

"No," came the distracted reply. "I just put the stupid people on top so I can get done with the F's early." She looked from the book to her computer screen a few more times before shutting the lid. She rose and plopped down between them, "I can take over if you'd like."

They shoved the stack of papers into her lap immediately. Shaking her head, she just smiled.

As she picked up her red grading pen, Da looked up from the book he'd grabbed from her many stacks, "Speaking of yesterday, lass. There's something I need to ask ye." He was about an hour late on the topic but he needed to ask despite how it made her stiffen. "Is there somebody ye need to call, lass?"

He could see her confused frown, though she had to have guessed at what he meant. She was smart. The intent looks upon his boys' faces showed that they knew what he was pushing for. "I already called the police. You guys are here. Who else is there?"

"He means yer family, Stripes."

"Oh, them…No," she gave them what they knew was a false smile before beginning to industriously grade. "No, there's no one I need to call."

"So ye've got a family then?" Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Connor's head turn and Murphy look over her head to return the look.

She frowned, both genuinely curious and anxious to change the subject, "Do you guys _always_ do that?"

"What?" they asked in unison. They looked at her, then at each other, then at her again.

"That!" she exclaimed. "Your twin looks! You two look at each other and it's like you hold an entire conversation without saying a word. Haven't you noticed how you guys finish each other's thoughts? Is it just a natural twin thing or something?"

Murphy shrugged, "Aye, I guess."

"We never really noticed to tell ye the truth," Connor shrugged. "But speaking of twins, don't you have _some_ family you need to tell about this? You were shot for Christ's sake."

Sighing, she put her pen down and looked from McManus to McManus to McManus, silently pleading for them to drop it. The three identical pairs of grey eyes said that they weren't going to. "It depends on the type of family you mean. If you mean do I have some alive people who are of my genetic lineage and share my blood and gave me my homely collection of genes et cetera, et cetera, then yes, I have a family. If you mean do I have people close to me who care about me, love me, worry about my well-being, send me presents on holidays, and speak to me then no, I don't. However, I _do_ have tests to grade."

She began searching the top paper, wishing that she had something to check wrong to get out some of her anger. While the lucky student got a one hundred, the hurt that always manifested when thinking of her family made sure she didn't look up.

"What do ye mean, Stripes? Are ye adopted or something?"

It was so foreign to Murphy and Connor that perhaps her family just didn't want her. Family was as natural to them as religion or breathing. Da had been a hole in their lives for twenty-five years and yet after twenty-four hours they had welcomed him back into their lives, quite happily, too. Da was more nervous about their acceptance than they were even if he hid it well.

Despite an ocean between them and her apparently ornery disposition, there was no doubt in their minds that their Ma loved them. Although at times it was meant to be negative, Stripes' heart warmed whenever they teased her about being their Ma. The fact that she held any resemblance to the woman they loved so much made her self-esteem soar.

Then they had each other. Just from watching them, she figured that having each other was like having that imaginary friend from childhood come to life. The other loved you, understood you, and accepted you automatically. It was in their nature. Connor and Murphy were different but they understood each other perfectly without even trying. They never thought about their twin looks because knowing what the other was thinking came instinctively.

Connor and Murphy couldn't believe that her family didn't want her because they had never been truly alone like her.

She tried to turn her wounded sob into a laugh at Murphy's innocent question. It didn't quite work so she had to speak quickly before they could linger on her sadness. "No, Murph. To use a medieval term, I've been disinherited. My family hasn't spoken to me in two years come this May."

The room was uncomfortably silent until Connor reached out an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. His voice was back to its normal happy Irish lilt when he asked, "So, what're ye going to college for?"

Relaxing into her new position, she smiled beamingly, "History with an emphasis on medieval and pre-medieval British Isles, especially Ireland."

"Hey Conn, no wonder she likes us," Murphy winked at her. "We're her type of Irish."

Giggling mischievously, she shook her head, "Murph, sweetie, I'm afraid you're a few hundred years too young to be my type of Irish. I prefer the dead historical type."

Before Murphy could protest through Connor's laughter, Da questioned, "How long do ye have left, lass?"

"Three years after this semester."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Murphy exclaimed, looking her up and down and then up and down again. "Ye can't be a fuckin' freshman. Ye aren't nineteen."

"What, now I'm not just fat and ugly but old as well?" Smiling at his groan, she didn't dwell on teasing him, "Murph, I turn twenty-four this year. I've already got one degree. I'm working on my master's for another year and then my doctorate is another two."

"Well, fuckin' hell Murph, she's feisty and she's smart. Once we get her name she'll be fuckin' perfect!"

Ignoring her blush, she ruffled his hair as he bent to kiss the top of her head with a smile, "Aye, Conn, I'm even Catholic, too. You can marry me without guilt." He just grinned at her as she returned to grading papers.

"Why the fuckin' hell are ye working at McGinty's then, Stripes?"

She laughed, looking up at Murphy, "Bit of a funny story, actually. Doc was teaching me Gaelic." She braced herself for it and sure enough after the second her words took to sink in Connor began shaking with laughter behind her and Murphy began coughing into his Guinness.

"Hey, be nice!" she scolded after a moment, staring down Murphy until he looked slightly remorseful. She'd counted on them finding it funny but not quite _that_ funny. "With the way you two talk it's not like fuck and ass are really outside the vocabulary! He really did try." Though no longer audibly chuckling, Connor was still shaking with laughter. She smacked his leg and sent him a glare. Coughing a few times, he regained a straight face.

Suddenly smirking, she looked from twin to twin for a moment. "I wasn't stupid enough to ask him to teach me Gaelic proverbs, though."

When he could again breathe after laughing, Connor shook his head, "Ye really are as evil as our Ma, Stripes."

She beamed up at him, "Thank you." Returning the smile, he had to laugh. Her face suddenly fell, though. "Wow, I just realized that I'm not going to see him anymore. He was going down to New York since the bar closed to work at his brother's. I still have to learn Gaelic to write my paper…"

A twin glance was exchanged above her head. Murphy shrugged, "We can teach ye."

"Aye, lass, I guarantee ye those two are fluent," Da commented, looking up from his book for the first time since their bickering had begun. "Their Ma would've accepted nothing less than at the very least Gaelic. She always did love languages..." There was a decided sadness in his voice as he spoke of his wife.

Just as Connor and Murphy began to look at their Da with odd expressions, Stripes jumped in, "Really? You guys would do that?"

"Aye," Conn smiled. "Consider it our rent."

"I'll tell you guys the same thing I told, Doc." She fixed them both with a stern look yet she couldn't contain her smile, "I'm ignoring every fuck and ass."

"Ye know," Murphy smirked at her, "in order to grade yer papers we're going to need yer name."

She just smiled at him before grading more tests, ignoring them even when they turned football back on. She was going to prolong their suffering as long as humanly possible when it came to her name.

TBS TBS

Why in the name of Christ was something poking her neck? Groaning, Stripes swatted at whatever it was. It went away for a moment so she didn't take the energy to open her eyes. Instead, she snuggled down deeper into what her asleep mind assumed was her pillow. It was warm and comfortable. To her annoyance, the poking returned but she ignored it until a sharp sting shot through her neck. Bolting wide awake, she cried out in pain.

"Ow!"

"Stripes, it's okay." Murph hovered above her, concern painted across his face. "I'm almost done."

Wincing at the pain and the tears running down her face, she asked shakily, "What're you doing, Murph?"

Connor's voice answered from behind her, "We figured we'd clean yer cut while you were asleep and not moving around so much. Sorry. We didn't want to hurt ye."

Despite the whimper she let out as Murphy pressed fresh disinfectant on it, she was touched by their thoughtfulness. "Thanks."

"All fuckin' done," Murphy declared as he sat back on the bed, clearing away her old, bloody bandage. "Ye feeling better after yer nap, Stripes?" He fixed her with his teasing smile again.

Yawning, she frowned, "I was asleep? I don't remember falling asleep."

Both twins chuckled. Connor squeezed her waist with the arm he had around it, "Well, ye are sure fuckin' hard to wake up."

Stretching her good arm, she smiled, "That's what you get when you're a good pillow and you make me watch football. If you'd put on soccer, there wouldn't have been a problem." After climbing over Murphy and getting off the bed, she asked as she made her way to the kitchen, "So what do you guys consume besides Guinness and Hennessey?"

Smirking, Connor looked up at her as he lit two cigarettes and handed one to Murphy, "Ye calling us alcoholics, Stripes?"

"You're Irish; that's a given," she retorted as she opened her fridge. When she emerged once again, they were standing much closer to her. Connor was on her barstool in front of her computer and Murphy was sitting on the now spotless kitchen table.

Though she'd thought both of them asleep that morning, they hadn't slept the day away like she'd supposed. When she and Da returned from her church and grocery shopping, every single drop of blood was gone from the table, the stove, and the counter. Both had shrugged off her thanks, but she had been sincerely grateful. She'd been dreading doing the task herself.

Suddenly hit with a bout of coughing, she waved the smoke away from her face, "Those will kill you, you know."

Connor shrugged, "So will a lot of things."

"Yeah, and I have to worry about every single one that works for the mob now," she smiled, humor and concern vying for control of her expression. "I need as few things trying to kill you as possible. A girl can only take so much, Conn."

Shrugging, he took a smaller drag, "Ye never minded when we were in McGinty's, Stripes."

"Yes, well, I didn't talk to you or love you then. Also," she shifted nervously from foot to foot as she wondered how exactly to word her next request, "I didn't have three people smoking in my house at the time, either."

"We can go outside if ye want us to, lass." Da brought his cigar down from where it had been precariously hanging from the right side of his mouth.

Connor nodded, "Aye, we can go up to yer roof."

"It wouldn't make me a total bitch, would it?" she anxiously asked, looking at each in turn.

Smirking suspiciously, Murphy narrowed his eyes at her, "This isn't some kind of trap, is it? Where no matter what I say ye're going to accuse me of calling you a bitch along with fat, ugly, and old."

"So it's true," she gasped melodramatically. "You really do think I'm fat!"

Chuckling heartily, Murph pointed his cigarette at her, "Fuck you, Stripes. And no, it doesn't make ye a bitch. It's yer home." With that, he hopped off the table, threw his cigarette into the sink and doused it.

Feeling much better, Stripes commenced making supper. Grabbing two cans of soup from her cupboard, she handed both and a can opener to Murphy. Then she grabbed a pot from underneath her stove and put it atop a burner. Handing her box of matches to Murphy, she had him light it for her. She'd been eating everything out of the microwave or actual oven for the last week. Having had enough problems with almost blowing herself up when she'd first gotten the stove, she wasn't going to even attempt lighting it by herself in her condition.

Teasingly shoving Murphy away from the food, she began stirring and occasionally throwing in a spice and whatnot.

Extinguishing his own cigarette, Connor joined his brother on her table. "So, what time's your first class tomorrow, Stripes?"

"Nine, I have to teach tomorrow. Why, what're you guys going to do tomorrow?"

Exchanging a twin look with Murphy and then a nod with Da, Connor began, "Well, Murph and I are gonna try to raise some hell somewhere, you know normal day. Da is going to class with you."

Her spoon dropped to the bottom of the pot, yet she was too surprised to swear. She refused to turn around and look at them as she grabbed a fork and fished out the spoon. They remained as silent as she, choosing to let her break the tension. They'd learned she was more likely to actually give them an answer instead of sidling away from the entire conversation when given time to be shy.

Finally, though she still didn't turn around, she asked quietly, "Why?"

"Ye can't go alone, lass. Remember what happened last time ye went to school." Da joined the group, taking Connor's previous place on the barstool. "Nothing will happen to ye if one of us is there with ye."

A derisive snort met their ears, "Yeah, instead they'll go after you. You're not coming with me. I won't let you."

"And you're going to manage to stop us how, Stripes?" Murphy's voice was light but lacked a genuine teasing element.

She shrugged, "I'll figure something out. I'm not letting you get caught because of me."

Sighing, Conn got up, gently held both her arms, and turned her around, "Stripes, we're not gonna get caught. How would anyone figure it out? Think about it."

Suddenly angry, she shoved him back and shouted, "I have, Conn! Dammit, did you think I was just daydreaming a minute ago? Just because I'm shy doesn't mean I'm stupid. If the mafia is still after me, then they know exactly who you are and what you look like. If they don't try and kill you then they might grow brains and call the cops. So, the scenario ends one of two ways: they try and kill us both and we have a shootout in the halls in which we either die or you go to jail. And option B is that they call the cops and you still go to jail for carrying around guns in a college then you probably get whacked in prison. I don't like those outcomes!"

"I never said ye were stupid, Stripes," he replied, voice stony. "And that's why _Da's_ going to go with ye. They're not going to kill Da. They think he's on their side. Besides, it's unlikely that they really fuckin' know what we look like. The only one alive who saw us was Papa fuckin' Joe."

She rolled her eyes, exclaiming, "Do you really think they won't put two and two together? Once they hear anything slightly Irish from your mouths, it won't matter if they know what you look like. The whole point of me being taken was that they thought I knew Rocco. I'm the fucking reason they thought he had partners. _I'm_ why they even thought about you two. They thought I was in on all of it with you. If you're with me that'll be enough reason to take you out, too." She gestured to Da and continued, "And Da betrayed them. They'll have gone back to that house and found everyone dead and you two not among them. Papa Joe will have figured it out. They're not going to be any happier with Da than with you."

"Stripes, we're not letting ye go alone. We're not going to let ye be in danger like that!"

She gave both twins a fierce look, "Oh yes, you are." With that, she turned away from them, attempting to end the discussion.

The resemblance to their Ma was rather scary. Yet, as much as they loved their Ma, when they knew they were right, or she was drunk, they tended to ignore what she ordered. The same applied here. "Do what ye like, Stripes," Murphy began.

"But we're not ever leaving ye," Connor finished.

Not realizing the gravity of what they had just promised, they didn't understand why she stiffened then sunk to the floor and began crying. She dropped her head to her knees, attempting to muffle her sobs out of instinct. Not unlike the night before, they stood there, paralyzed and at a complete loss. After a moment, she merely held up the spoon and hiccupped, "Someone stir the soup or it'll burn to the bottom of the pan."

Being the closest, Connor took it and did as she said. He glanced down repeatedly, taking in the sight of her crying and wanting more than anything to just fix it. Murphy caught his eye and it was clear his twin wanted the same thing. The problem was, neither of them had the faintest idea what was making her cry. Was it them? Had they done something wrong? Did they leave her alone? Did they hug her?

Da's expression betrayed no knowledge of the best course of action, either. He sat there, frowning at the black-haired woman with an odd softness in his expression. Perhaps they weren't the only ones that saw a small resemblance to their Ma in her…

Finally, having enough of sitting there and doing nothing, Murphy sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She lowered her head onto his shoulder without thinking. He kissed the top of her head, "Hey, what's wrong, Stripes?"

Shaking her head, she choked out, "Trust me, you wouldn't understand. Neither of you would."

Putting down the spoon, Conn sat on her other side, completing the McManus sandwich they were so fond of putting her in the middle of. At the movement, she glanced up at him from Murphy's shoulder. He smiled at her, "Try us."

She gave him a ghost of a smile back but again shook her head, "You won't." Conn's expression clearly said he didn't believe her, so she elaborated, "Conn, I _know_ you won't understand and that is why I can't let you guys get caught because of me. I'm not going to be the cause of you understanding. I'm not doing that to you."

Glancing up at Da, she beseeched, "Da, you _have_ to know what I mean. They just got you back. They can't lose you this fast because I'm suddenly popular."

Their eyes met and for a long moment, Da considered the young woman in front of him. He now knew what was eating at her. He presumed his boys did as well now but she was pleading with him because prison had exposed him to the loneliness she was referring to. His eyes softened to her plight, but his voice remained firm, "Lass, ye're not getting rid of us, no matter how noble yer intentions. Ye'd never forgive yerself if we got caught but we'd never forgive ourselves if ye got hurt either. This is an impasse and we're winning by sheer force of numbers."

Sighing, she just laid her head back on Murphy's shoulder. They were men. Men were stubborn. Irishmen were obstinate, hardheaded, and dauntless on top of that, especially these three. Arguing with them wasn't going to get her anywhere. She'd have to just take action and beg forgiveness later. Closing her eyes tiredly, she said absently, "Connor, the soup is about to bubble over."

Before he jumped up to stop it, he and Murphy exchanged a look and a smile. Conn put his arm over her shoulder and they squeezed then kissed her temples. She laughed at the gesture and the conversation ended with both sides thinking they'd won.

There was no argument that night when, after putting on pajamas, Stripes climbed into her bed between Connor and Murphy. They merely said good night and continued watching Letterman with Da. When the show ended, they pulled their shirts off and got under the blankets with her.


	7. Operation McManus

Stripes' eyes shot open the next morning, praying her internal clock hadn't failed her. The bright green numbers hiding behind Connor's head allayed her fears. They cheerfully proclaimed that it was 4:33 in the morning. Despite being what she wanted to see, Stripes didn't so cheerfully receive the proclamation.

Groaning inwardly, so her plan wouldn't be ruined before it truly began, she took a few minutes to become more than half conscious. Bracing her arm as she had the morning before, she got herself out of bed without either McManus stirring by 4:45. Da didn't move in the reclined chair except for the rise and fall of his chest. The hardest part was done! Phase two of "Operation Save the McManuses from Themselves Because They are Hardheaded Irishmen" then commenced.

She swiftly and silently disappeared into her bathroom, leaving the light off and depending on the streetlamps out the window. Stripes fought her way into the clothes she'd set out the night before. Her blue plaid bag was already filled with all the books and assignments she needed for the day. She grabbed it after she had her coat and sling on. She laid her green striped scarf on the bed between Connor and Murphy, and then she disappeared through the door, pulling it shut behind her with a small click.

Foregoing the bus and subway as usual, she began the four mile walk. She did it every morning, but she generally was going when there was some indication that the sun was going to rise that morning. The absolute darkness in the sky above her save for the city lights was doing nothing for her peace of mind. She hurried past the mouth of every alley, the darkness surely concealing a mobster of some kind.

More than once did she wish that she'd have just let Da come with her. Was she just being stupid in fighting them on this? The mental picture of them with bullet wounds in their chests answered her question for her. Stupid as she may be she wasn't budging. They were as close to family as she'd had in a long time and she wasn't going to be the reason they died.

TBS TBS

Her classes went as they usually did. Half her students in Irish History wouldn't talk, preferring texting and failing, the other half laughed along with her whenever she made an attempt at an Irish accent. She had to admit that it had gotten much better in the last few months. She passed back tests and assigned new readings and reminded them of their final paper. With a smile, she let her students out ten minutes early.

Every time she walked out of that class, she knew that she'd picked the right profession. She loved the teaching. And as frustrating as it was sometimes, she loved writing the papers as well. She couldn't explain why but she did. She loved learning and she loved getting paid for it, too. What they gave her for teaching as a grad student wasn't much and she still needed a second job to live but she honestly would have done it for free. Sharing what she knew was as fulfilling as learning in the first place.

Following the class she taught, she went along to her two other classes, Dark Ages Ireland and the High Middle Ages. With the good mood her first class put her in, she wandered from class to class, hiding in the library in between like any other day. The mob left her mind completely. Something was normal and she grasped at it as if she was drowning without knowing it.

Instead, she became surrounded by monks, priests, Catholicism, and Ireland. Her paper was coming along fairly well from what she'd been able to translate out of Gaelic. She'd hit page twenty-five out of a minimum of fifty, so she was feeling good about herself.

After her last class got out early, around three-thirty, she had a professor she needed to speak to. He was the one she was teaching for and they went over lesson plans every Monday afternoon. He was taken completely aback by her extra injuries for a few moments but was kind enough not to dwell on them.

Towards the end of their talk, while she was putting her things away, he stopped suddenly as if just remembering something. "Oh, I forgot. There were a number of calls for you today. Elizabeth took the messages and put them on my desk since you're my grad assistant. Let's see. Three are from a Noah McManus and one is from a Frankie. Here you go."

He smiled kindly at her, not taking in the look of sheer terror on her face. Swallowing, she turned her grimace into a smile that she could pass off as pain medication wearing off or something if he noticed. Dr. Grainger was one of the nicest men you could ever meet but he fit the bill of absent-minded scholar perfectly. If it was younger than four hundred years old and wasn't his wife he had the tendency to be a tad bit oblivious to its emotional wellbeing. Breathlessly thanking him, she excused herself with a hurried, "Good night, professor."

She scurried out of his office and down the almost empty hall, looking around herself in paranoia. She lurched to a halt in front of the first women's restroom and barricaded herself in the handicap stall, sinking to the floor and not worrying about the germs. Needing more than a few deep breaths to return her heart to its normal state, she closed her eyes for a long moment.

With shaking hands, she looked at her messages, taken in Grainger's secretary Elizabeth's neat cursive.

First were Da's, all three were from within the previous half hour. She assumed they'd called every college in the city and had just found the right one.

-We're worried sick about you. Please call one us and we'll get you from school.

-Conn and Murphy are about ready to wear ruts in your kitchen floor. Please call us.

-We're coming to get you at 4:30. Don't leave the school until we find you.

That one was only five minutes old, meaning they probably hadn't left yet, hoping for her call still.

Then there was the one from Frankie. It had been taken around noon…

-Sorry our last date was cut short. I'll come and pick you up today and we'll finish where we left it. Joe says hello.

Without a moment to contemplate Frankie's message further, she was up on her knees and throwing up her lunch in one swift motion. She didn't need to contemplate what her messages meant. Frankie knew where she went to school and was waiting for her somewhere on that campus. Papa Joe had sent him out to get her and there was no way Frankie was coming by himself. He had to have help.

Without getting a phone call and some more information the McManuses would never be able to find her. The campus was an entire square city block and she didn't think that women's restrooms were on their list of places to look for her.

She didn't have a cell phone; they were too expensive. There were a bunch of payphones around campus, but all in uncomfortably public places. Why couldn't she be a female James Bond? She'd never have any problems then! She'd just call the McManuses with the phone hidden in her shoe or whatever.

Looking down at her battered black Converse, she doubted there was much hope of success down that particular avenue. Sighing, she took another moment to pretend like she really had much choice.

Calling Conn, Murphy, and Da would accomplish exactly what she wanted to avoid by leaving without their armed escort that morning. She was bringing them and their guns into a public place to come face to face with the mob again. She had never considered herself particularly pessimistic but she couldn't see a good way for that afternoon to end. However, she really didn't want to die. Her self-preservation instinct grabbed onto what Da had said and played it on a loop in her head.

"_Ye'd never forgive yerself if we got caught but we'd never forgive ourselves if ye got hurt either."_

Readjusting her sling to procrastinate from leaving the relative safety of the stall a little more, she finally shouldered her bag and stepped out. Her heart immediately picked up pace dangerously, conveying her fear to anyone with good enough ears it felt like. She peeked out of the door, finding the hallway empty.

Two weeks prior, she would have sighed in relief and not thought another thing about it. She knew far better than that now. Deciding that being stealthy in any way was hard enough for her normally, it was going to be bordering on impossible with her sling. Glancing down at it with a preemptive groan of pain, she told herself she really didn't have time to procrastinate.

Glaring at her arm, she pulled off the sling and shoved it into her bag, attempting with everything she had not to think about the pain. As long as she didn't jostle it too much, she'd be fine. As she saw the trio of men turn the corner behind her, she wasn't sure if that was in the cards. Frankie was the man in the middle…

The nearest phone was two hallways away. She had to get there before they got to her.

TBS TBS

"Da, should we go get Murph?"

Connor didn't pause in his pacing of Stripes' kitchen. He'd been circling the table for the past hour. He had the bruise on his thigh to prove it.

He had to hand it to Stripes; she was smart and stubborn. He had no idea how she'd managed to get out of bed without waking him and Murph that morning but she'd done a stellar fuckin' job of it. They'd woken up at eight with the sun streaming through the shades and her scarf lying in between them.

He'd fallen out of bed he got up so fast, looking for her. It took him a long, torturous moment to realize that her laptop and bag were gone. They'd spent the worst day of their lives going through her phone book, calling every university and college in the Boston area.

Often they had to call three or four different people per college and, by some very uncooperative hand of fate, they hadn't found anyone who'd heard of her until four in the afternoon. Her phone bill wasn't going to be pretty.

For the hell she'd caused them, he decided, she kind of deserved it. Of course, if she ended up dead he'd hate himself for thinking that for the rest of his life…

He and Da had done all the calling. Murphy had been too upset and too worried to trust himself not to break anything. He'd been in the middle of a smoke on her roof since lunch.

Conn wished he could have a cigarette but he couldn't pry himself away from anything larger than a two foot radius around her phone. Da was sitting in his chair with what looked like a killer headache. She had fifteen more minutes to call them before they were going to head there themselves.

It suddenly struck Connor that perhaps instead of being so angry at her, he should be touched. She'd gone through all that trouble, though stupid trouble, to keep them safe because she cared. How many people did they know who would not only harbor them, feed them, and be tortured for them, but then turn around and put herself in harm's way to keep them safe? There was no one off the top of his head. She was stupid when it came to her safety, that was true enough, but she had such pure intentions he couldn't berate her for it. How she'd fallen into the habit of being their guardian angel, he didn't know. Sighing, he dropped to the floor, leaning back against the cabinets.

As long as they could keep Stripes alive to be their angel, he'd be a happy fuckin' man.

Da answered after a long moment, "Aye, I'll get him. Ye stay by the fuckin' phone. Don't worry, lad, she'll be all right." Despite his words, their expressions said differently. Both Da and Connor knew that those words were an optimistic grab at something positive.

It was quite possible they were overreacting but that didn't make it any less nerve-wracking.

Connor leaned his head back and closed his eyes as Da left. "Fuck, Stripes, ye're gonna fuckin' kill me here." Just as his eyes closed, the phone rang, jolting him up. Before he comprehended the noise, he had the receiver to his ear, "Stripes?"

"Connor!" she whispered with relief. Before he had a chance to bombard her with questions, she hurried on. Her voice was a whisper but she was scared and she was rushed, that he could tell. "Conn, Frankie is here. There's three of them. He's in black; the other two are in tan. Conn, they've seen me. There's a study room on the top floor of the library, northeast corner. Please find me! Shit…Please, don't get hurt."

With that, she was gone, the dial tone beeping before he had a chance to demand she come back. That wasn't much to go on. What was worse was that they were already late. The mob had gotten there first. They couldn't let them find her first!

"Da! Murph! Let's fuckin' go!"

He screamed up the elevator shaft, knowing that the door to the roof was open because they were up there smoking so often. He shrugged on his jacket and had both holsters full before the other two were on the right floor. "I'll be in the fuckin' car," he said without another word.

TBS TBS

Stripes looked behind her in panic as she walked quickly away from the phone. The three mobsters had turned down her hallway. She'd heard their accents just in time to get off the phone and walk away so they wouldn't see her face. She wasn't sure just how important that would be. It was not as if she'd grown a couple inches since they last saw her or her hair had changed. The lack of sling hopefully helped a bit.

She forced herself to remain at a casual but quicker walk than normal as she made for the exit door with a group of students leaving class. The period had just ended at four and campus would be swamped. The library was only across the lawn from the history building. She only had to get there…

She wasn't an expert on the mob—though, she commented dryly to herself, anymore run-ins with them and she was practically an honorary member—but she found it doubtful they would just shoot her in the back in front of dozens of college students. Kidnapping someone by throwing them in a car was one thing. It provided a quick getaway. Murdering her right there did not.

Stripes couldn't help but glance back when she hit a crowd of people. Her and Frankie's eyes connected for a split second and she saw the comprehension dawn. Paling, she turned her head back and began shedding her coat, "Fuck."

The brisk spring wind hit her but she wasn't sure if it was the wind or fear that sent chills down her spine as she broke into a jog. She hurried with the crowd, counting on her short stature to conceal her. When she glanced back again, Frankie and his minions were standing and looking around with confusion. She didn't count on that lasting so she went faster. She hit the turn in the sidewalk that she needed to take to get to the library.

"Shit." She froze for a second. No one was turning toward the library and hardly anyone was coming out. She'd be out in the open. She walked a few more steps with the crowd as she grabbed her bad arm and braced it. Then, without allowing herself to look back, she sprinted toward the library doors.

Shouts from the crowd told her Frankie had noticed her. Doing her best to not let it scare her anymore—which didn't work—she flew through the doors, up the stairs and hid among the bookshelves. She needed to go up two more floors to reach the study room she'd told Connor about.

What was the point of getting to that room and just having Frankie and his buddies break through the door and kill her or skip a step and shoot holes through the walls? It wouldn't be that hard. No, all she could do was stall them until the McManuses got there. She knew the library better than they did. She practically lived there. She could do this…right?

Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax and convince herself she wasn't crazy with the single action. She was going to try and incapacitate three mob members with a bunch of books and boring them into submission wasn't an option. Maybe Conn and Murphy had somehow managed to get her drunk and she was still hung over?

As she let that deep breath out and grabbed the fifteen hundred page volume on the French Revolution, she decided that by the end of the day she was either going to need an undertaker or a shrink and she would rather it be the latter. She watched through the shelves as Frankie motioned for his two followers to go in different directions. He was unwittingly coming her way.

She could do this…couldn't she?

When his shoes were only a shelf away, she tightened her grip on the book. She would soon find out.

TBS TBS

"Hey!" The blonde college student of about twenty stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that the Irishman was shouting at him. He was flanked a dark-haired and older man on either side. They all wore black pea coats. He'd never seen any frat guys that looked like them… "Do ye know where the library is?"

He managed to nod, "Yeah." There was a long pause that grew tenser by the second when he did not continue.

"Well, tell us where it fuckin' is, Einstein!" the dark-haired one yelled.

Shaking a bit, he pointed out the building, "There, but they'll be closing up. It closes at five on Fridays."

"Thank ye," the first one said and the trio was off without a glance back.

They jogged up the stairs and entered the large brick building. Not fifteen feet from the door was the first bookshelf. Even with the lights off one could see the place was packed with them. Not an inch of space was given up in favor of the volumes. Connor could easily see why Stripes said she spent so much of her time there. She was a kid in a candy store.

Trying to look natural, they passed the circulation desk. No one was there but they heard voices coming from the office behind it. The kid was right; they were in the middle of closing, apparently. Da motioned them forward and they disappeared amongst the shelves before they could be seen.

The stairs were easy enough to find, even in the dark. The windows let in a fair amount of light, enough to see by but little enough to hide in, as well. "Which floor again?" Murph asked in a whisper.

"Top. That corner," Conn pointed out as they silently made their way up the wooden spiral staircase.

They were halfway there when Da stopped, holding an arm in front of the boys. He silently motioned to a spot on the floor. Upon closer inspection, the twins recognized it as blood. When they looked up at the stairs in front of them, they noticed more. Someone was bleeding…

They hurried faster, pulling guns out before they reached the top floor. The blood continued, leaving them the perfect breadcrumb trail.

They heard their targets before they reached them, however. Two men were pounding on the door of a study room; the window in it was already shattered. Italian curses filled the space as something barred their way. The window was too small for them to fit through and for some reason they weren't using guns though both were packing.

Connor's eyes searched the dimly lit room when he saw the number. Stripes had said three. One in black and two in tan. He was sure of it. Where was the third one? He whispered that question to Murphy and Da. They looked around, too, until Da let out a soft chuckle. He grasped Conn's arm and pointed down the next line of shelves.

One of the men in tan was leaning against a shelf, wheezing through a broken nose and, by the way he hugged his chest, some broken ribs. He was their bleeder—hopefully, the only one.

"Come on you bitch, open the fucking door. There's no way to get away from us. If you'd have come out earlier, saved us a load of trouble, we wouldn't have our way with you before we put a bullet in your head! You had best just get it over with, bitch!" The mobster limped slightly as he walked, identifying him as Stripes' attempted rapist.

"Fuck off, Frankie!" came the terrified reply from inside the room. Well, there was Stripes.

Frankie put his foot through the door, eliciting a scream from their prisoner. He swore however, when the hole was blocked by some dark, solid object. She screamed again when he emptied a few bullets into it. "I'm gonna get to you soon, bitch! You don't have anybody coming to save you!"

Before he truly realized that he'd stood, Connor had stepped into the aisle, "Aye, she does!"

Frankie turned just in time to see Conn pull the trigger. He keeled over with a dying gurgle.

Frankie's standing accomplice had time to fire one round before Murphy had four in his chest and Da got the injured one in the forehead. When the slight echo had faded, they were surrounded by an eerie silence they'd become used to. It filled the space of whatever room they were in when killing mob men.

It was broken a second later by a sob. It was watery, weak, and fragile. Holstering their guns in one swift motion, the three were at the door in a moment. "Stripes? Are ye okay, lass?"

"Da? Yeah, I'm fine. Are you guys okay?"

"Aye, Stripes," Conn answered, looking in through the broken window and still not seeing her. "Where the fuckin' hell are you?"

There was some scuffling and then she appeared at the bottom of the door from underneath an overturned desk. "G-give me a second and I'll be out." Her voice was shaky and they all recognized it. It was her attempt at staying calm voice. Within a matter of moments she'd break down completely. Sighing, Murphy pulled out a handful of pennies and got to work. She began pathetically tugging on one of the desk's legs until she had just enough room to squeeze through the door.

Murphy had returned just in time to catch a glimpse of the two bullet holes in the top, "Did he hit ye, Stripes?"

She shook her head but didn't answer. A pale and stony-faced Conn grabbed her blue bag as Da picked her up once her sides began heaving and her breath began hitching. They weren't even to the stairs when she began sobbing hysterically into Da's neck. He gently shushed her a few times but didn't push it as they made their way to the car.

Da sat her in the back with Murphy as Conn drove. She quieted for a bit when he put his arm around her. Despite the questions they asked, she wouldn't speak. She just stared straight at Connor in the rearview mirror as he drove. She led the way up to her apartment rather mechanically when they'd parked.

Her silence began scaring Conn and Murph who sent a look at each other. Da, however, still looked unperturbed. He walked next to her up to the elevator and helped her push the gate up. Once inside her apartment, he sat down at the kitchen table and laid his guns on it. Murphy did likewise, following Da's lead with some confusion. Connor made to follow suit but as soon as he had his guns on the table, Stripes tightly grabbed his hand and pulled him into her living room.

"Stripes? Stripes…what are ye doing?"

At first her only answer was a hiccupping sob as she dug through a cluttered bookshelf by her dresser. She found whatever it was she searched for, tore it open, and put a disc in her cheap DVD player. Fighting back audible sobs as tears streamed down her face, she pulled Connor down on the bed next to her and huddled up into his side. Seeing that he wasn't opposed to this course of action at all, Conn didn't fight or question it. He merely wrapped his arm around her and pulled her further up on his chest.

He felt her shaking as she pushed 'play' on her remote. She wouldn't stop… He took that as a sign to hold her tighter. He wished he could put a perfectly-aimed bullet through Frankie's chest again. It would do no good but it would make him feel better for what the bastard had done to her. Just when she seemed to be getting a tad bit better—she'd smiled within twenty-four hours; that was good—those mob assholes had to fuck her up again.

Now, once again, she was a sobbing heap in his arms. Not that he was necessarily complaining about the being in his arms part. The sobbing element he _definitely_ did not like. When she didn't stop and wouldn't speak, he sent a helpless look to Murphy and Da in the kitchen, cleaning their guns.

In Murph's eyes he found the same anger he felt. Da, however, just gave a gentle smile and nod toward the woman. It seemed to say, "She'll be all right. Let her be."

Being helpless wasn't exactly what Connor had had in mind, but if it was what she needed, he would merely lay there and hold her. He sighed and kissed the top of her head. Her head nestled down into the crook of his shoulder more as the Disney emblem appeared upon the screen.

He had the sudden urge to smile. Stripes' feel-good ritual included polar bear patterned pajamas, ice cream, and Disney movies. A good tumbler of Hennessey was more his speed but kid movies and curling up fit her so well, he couldn't judge or complain.

Murph, however, found it odd apparently. Glancing up from his pistol, he frowned, "What the hell are ye watching?"

"Murph, shut the hell up, will ye?" Connor reprimanded.

Stripes smiled to herself as she saw Murphy's mouth open to retort something back. Cutting him and the fight off, she answered, "_Aladdin_. It was always my favorite movie as a kid. I wanted a tiger for years."

"So why are ye watching it now?"

She sent him a glare over her shoulder, "Because it makes me happy inside." As he began to say something to that, she demanded, "Would you rather be watching _Titanic _or _The Sound of Music_? I can find those if you'd rather. They're right over there…"

"No!" both he and Connor answered vehemently.

"Good, so be quiet."

Murphy's voice held annoyance and Connor's amusement when they retorted in unison, "Aye, Ma." Da burst into laughter.

She had to smile. Sighing happily, she relaxed into Conn's side. She was all right. She was always all right with them. Her tears stopped as she laid her head back down and watched the screen. Before either she or her pillow realized it, she and Conn were both fast asleep.

TBS TBS

For the second time in as many days, Stripes was awakened by an irritating poking. Cracking an eye open, she was greeted with a pair of mischievous gray eyes. She groaned and swatted at his hand, "Murph, go away." She heard him snicker and she was poked in the nose once again.

"Come on, Stripes. Be a good girl and get up." He poked her for emphasis.

She hid her nose in Conn's side and muttered, "Murph, why don't ye be a good girl and go make me a sandwich?"

She felt Conn's laugh start deep in his chest beneath her ear a second later. Though groaning at being woken up, she did laugh when she opened her eyes again to find Murphy's miffed look. Though, she knew Murphy well enough to know that the miffed look would soon be replaced with one scheming for revenge. She'd get it and she'd laugh when it came.

When he stood there, not moving, she sighed, "I'll take that as a no on the sandwich."

He lunged forward to poke her again but Conn's hand intercepted. Still chuckling, he asked drowsily, "Why the wakeup call, Murph?"

The darker haired twin nodded toward Stripes' kitchen, "Because ye've got company, Stripes."

Her green eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious. "Who would be visiting me?" she whispered as Conn helped her sit up and turn around.

Sitting at her table next to Da, nursing a beer, was FBI Agent Smecker. He smiled at her, "Why hello C—Stripes. I'd ask how you're feeling but you seem to be doing fine." He hadn't meant to almost slip her name but she could already see the cogs turning in Conn and Murphy's heads.

Nodding to him, she took Murphy's hand and got up, "Good to see you, too. What're you doing here?" She went to her bag and dug out her sling as Conn and Murphy pulled the remaining chair and barstool up to her table. Smecker waited until she had properly adjusted her arm and came over. Conn grabbed her good arm and pulled her into his lap when she paused without a seat.

Taking a swig of his beer, he smiled, "I should have known you all would meet back up. I don't know why it surprised me when Noah opened the door."

Stripes returned his smile, "They needed a place to stay and I needed some people to keep me sane."

Chuckling, Da gestured at her with his beer, "Aye, lass, but many would say ye've got some bad decision makin' skills with that one."

"After today, many can say whatever the hell they want. The fact that I'm not in a body bag makes me perfectly happy with those decision making skills. My skills dealing with staying alive are the questionable ones."

Connor's legs tensed underneath her and Murphy's shoulders changed their set. Both were moments from beginning the tirade to make sure she never did anything like her stunt today again. She had wondered when it was coming. The fact it was so delayed only made her dread it more. Neither McManus twin was the type to bottle their feelings up very well when it was anger. She'd seen enough bar scuffles to know that. When the cork got popped off on this, she was going to get drenched in the champagne of their anger. Of course, she wasn't scared they would hurt her or anything of such absurd nature. She just dreaded seeing the looks on their faces.

Smecker beat them to it, however. "Well, I guess that answers the questions that caused me to come here. So it was you who took out the mob members in that college library earlier today."

The three McManuses nodded in unison. Da answered, "Aye, they were there to kill the lass. We had to stop them."

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you let her go to school by herself anyway? You knew that's where they had grabbed her before, didn't you?" Stripes hung her head as Connor and Murphy tensed into stone. They became steel when, at the collective silence, Smecker continued, "She's damn lucky you got there in time."

Choking on a guilty sob, Stripes answered, "They didn't come with me because I left without them this morning. It's my fault, not theirs."

Smecker stiffened, just short of coughing up his beer. He and Da exchanged a glance that was oddly reminiscent of the twins'. Connor still had not moved a muscle, becoming frighteningly still. Murphy had begun tapping a hand on the tabletop in an effort to reign in his anger.

"Would ye mind telling us what happened before ye called us, lass?" Da questioned.

Her black hair swayed with her as she shook her head. "I left here at around five this morning. I went about everything as usual until the end of the day. I had to go see the professor that I teach for as a grad assistant. I got the three messages you guys had left and one from Frankie."

She paused, wondering just how much she should tell them about her hopefully final run-in with the Italian mob. She skipped the vomiting in fear part of her day.

"I saw them as I came out of the bathroom. I made it to the phone and called Conn. They didn't notice me until I was outside. I made a run to the library. It's a labyrinth in there until you get used to it and I knew that I needed to stall for some time. I had to give you guys time to get there. So, I hid in the shelves and sort of attacked them with books. I broke one guy's nose and some ribs and that gave me the time to get to the study room. I turned the desk over and put it in front of the door. They're really heavy and solid wood so I figured it was my best shot. I made it there just before they did. I hid underneath the desk just before they started shooting."

Sighing, Smecker took another drink of his beer, "You realize how close you were to dying, don't you? Stripes, Papa Joe wants you dead almost as much as the Saints. And he's not going to give his guys any quick kill instructions, either."

As soon as the words had left the other man's lips, Connor stood up in one smooth motion and handed Stripes to Murphy. He seized the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the counter and disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him. Murphy stared after his twin in surprise. Generally that was _his_ reaction. Connor was the calm one.

A watery sob came from where Stripes had been deposited on his lap. Standing her on her feet, Murphy made to follow his brother. She stopped him with her good arm, however. Green eyes pleaded with him when she began, "I'll go. I'm the one he needs to yell at. Just, Murph, please don't lay into me when I get back. I-I don't think I can take it twice. Together maybe but…" she hiccupped out a laugh at her last comment and he had to crack a small smile. He put an arm over her shoulders and pressed a quick kiss to her temple before pushing her on her way.

"Lass," Da said as she walked by, "just let him get it out. Ye have to know that he's not angry; he's fuckin' scared."

Stripes nodded before jogging through the door, shutting it softly behind her. Smecker stared after her, clearly confused, "What just happened there?"

Finishing off his twin's hardly touched beer, Murphy explained casually, "Conn thinks it's his fault about Stripes. She only stuck with us in the first place to get him to the hospital. He's the reason that bad cop got her name because she helped us walk there. It was his idea to come back and stay at her place. He's the one that didn't wake up when she snuck out and then she almost died again today trying to protect us. It's fuckin' rubbish but it's what he thinks."

"Aye, the boy would do anything to keep her safe," Da mused.

TBS TBS

"Go the fuck away, Murph!" Conn ordered when he heard the roof door open in the darkness behind him. He hadn't bothered to look at a clock but the sun was gone and night had fully fallen. He was sitting on the roof's ledge, feet hanging over the side and letting his cigarette ash float to the ground five floors below. The gentle way the door was shut told him that it wasn't his twin behind him. He took a heavy drag on his cigarette and tried again, "Da, not now." That didn't get him any answer either.

"Conn…I'm sorry." Stripes voice was tear-riddled—he knew that without even looking—and remorseful. "I know I was stupid and I'm sorry."

Before he could stop himself, Conn stood and yelled, "Ye're damn right ye were stupid! What in the fuckin' hell were ye thinkin'? Ye just got kidnapped and fuckin' tortured, Stripes! Did ye think they'd just leave ye alone? Are ye usually this big of a fuckin' idiot?"

Feeling like she'd just been punched in either the stomach or heart, Stripes' breath caught. She pursed her lips, fighting the tears and losing. She did her best to keep quiet. Da was right. He needed to get everything out. She just hoped it didn't take long. It was killing her inside. Connor kept ranting, not noticing her wounded expression.

"Stripes, ye could've fuckin' died! Wasn't once enough?" He threw his hands up in the air as he paced, "Aren't ye sick of going through near-death experiences for us? Stripes, ye're not invincible. They're gonna fuckin' kill you next time and…and I can't promise we're going to be there to save ye. More than that, ye could've gotten us killed, too! What if there'd been fuckin' more of them? Ye're gettin' a fuckin' master's degree; aren't ye supposed to be smart for Christ's sake?"

Her first sob reached his ears when his yelling ceased echoing. Turning to look at her, still angry, he froze and the rage melted away. Tears streamed down her face and she was hugging herself with her good arm. He immediately regretted calling her stupid. She spoke before he had a chance to apologize, though, "Conn, I'm sorry. I was stupid. It's just…I was scared..."

His anger flared up again, "Well then why did ye leave without us! We can keep ye safe!" Stepping forward, he sighed suddenly as he looked at her bruises and mangled shoulder. Reaching out, he held her face in one hand and with the other pushed her hair back to see the cut that should have killed her. He was quiet when he asked, "Haven't ye been hurt enough?"

Wiping some tears away, she looked up at him, "Conn, I wasn't scared of being hurt. I was scared of seeing Murphy and Da shot and you falling from a roof again. I'm scared of what it's going to be like if you die. Conn…I don't know if…I don't know how it happened but you're my family. I don't know if I can see you guys…die."

Without thinking, Connor wrapped his arms around her in a strong hug. She melted against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "Stripes, we're not going to die. I prom—"

"Don't promise me, Conn. I know you can't. Just, please, don't be mad at me anymore."

Sighing, he kissed the top of her head, "I'm not, Stripes. Ye just scared the shit out of me today."

She suddenly laughed, "Don't worry; I scared the shit out of me today." He pulled back and smiled down at her. Returning his smile, she asked, "Conn, will you come to class with me tomorrow?"

He nodded with a genuine grin, "Aye."

Squeezing her tight for a moment, he let her go and returned to the ledge. Happy that they'd gotten past everything, Stripes joined him. Without thinking, she leaned against his shoulder. As he brought the cigarette up to his mouth, he paused, "Ye don't mind, do ye?"

Her green eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment before understanding. Smiling, she shook her head as she closed her eyes contentedly, "No, go ahead. Ye are a big boy, ye know, Conn."

Connor looked down at her for another second. He took a final drag on the cigarette and then flicked it into the alley below anyway. He took his now free arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Stripes…?" he began, seemingly tentative but with an evil smirk on his face she couldn't see.

"Conn."

"Ye said we were yer family, aye?"

Laughing slightly, she nodded against him, "Aye."

"Can that mean that I'm your favorite twin?"

Giggling unreservedly, she couldn't help but tease him. "Only if you're the older one…"

"Hey!" he protested, only making her laugh harder. He reached over and began tickling her sides where he knew she wasn't injured. She was a bit more ticklish than he counted on, though. He had to quickly wrap his arms around her waist and lean back when she convulsed in laughter, going dangerously close to the edge. He leaned back just a little too far and they crashed to the roof. Stripes was still laughing even when they landed. Connor was between her and the roof, breaking her fall.

When she had regained the ability to speak, she turned and glanced down at him with a smile, "Conn, promise you won't let me cry anymore. I'm sick of it."

The Irishman gladly returned her smile, "Aye, I can do that."

TBS TBS

"Aye, so me twin and me Stripes are still alive. Who would've thought," Murphy teased when they reentered her apartment nearly an hour after she had left. In one fluid motion as they sat down, Stripes and Conn both smacked him in the back of the head. "What the fuckin' hell?"

His exclamation was answered only by identically amused grins. Stripes shifted a bit on Connor's lap until she was comfortable then looked up at Smecker. He was still on the same beer she noted with amusement. "So, did you need anything else, Agent Smecker?"

"Please, it's Paul. And yes, as a matter of fact. I have a rather big favor to ask of you."

"Sure, I'll do whatever I can to help you out."

Smecker laughed with an edge of sarcasm, "Just listen to what I have to say before you make any promises. With all the recent," he smirked at the McManuses, "_incidents_ against mob members in Boston, Papa Joe has come under the eye of the district attorney. The general public outcry isn't against the Saints but against the mob, so that helps. With the ledger you recovered, your story and a mountain of circumstantial evidence, the DA feels he has enough to hopefully put Papa Joe away this time. Now, he hasn't brought the charges officially yet, but I know that he's going to need your testimony to have a chance with the case. In order to guarantee that Papa Joe doesn't walk he's going to first ask and then, if you refuse, subpoena you to testify. But even with you, I'm not sure all the other evidence can pull it off. It's a risk on your part, no question. But you got the book and you got personal attention from Papa Joe when you were kidnapped; you're the perfect victim, Stripes."

The heavy silence following his proclamation was short-lived. Murphy began yelling as Connor hugged Stripes protectively around the waist. "They'll fuckin' kill her if she testifies, Smecker! She'll be the perfect fuckin' victim after he walks and they bring him back for killin' her! What the fuck are ye thinkin'! As soon as anybody leaks that she's testifying she won't even get to the fuckin' trial."

Sighing heavily, Smecker nodded, now sounding hesitant to continue, "I fucking know, Murphy. And after finding out that Officer Mitchell really was on Papa Joe's payroll, it makes me even more nervous. However, their last actions show that they don't know much about you, Stripes. They don't know where you live, only where you go to school and that's probably because of the college website. I'm guessing you pay cash for this place so they can't find it. After today, I doubt they'll try and get you at school again. All the same, I don't know who I can trust with your protection except for you guys."

Da shrugged, "We're not leaving the lass alone, Paul."

"I know that you won't now, but the trial is a couple of months in coming. It could very well be June or July before they need you. Stripes, you don't have to give me an answer of any kind now but…"

She cut him abruptly off, "I'll do it."

Silence fell but she could only feel their eyes on her. She was staring at the table. Why Smecker thought that having the McManuses stay with her for months was a problem of some kind, she had no idea. Aside the rather morbid circumstances of her probable death, it was perfect.

Also, she didn't have the courage or mentality to take the fight to the mob like the McManuses. She couldn't pick up a gun and start shooting. But, if the DA was at all competent, she could make all the pain she suffered at Papa Joe's hands be what put him in jail. She felt a smug sort of satisfaction at the idea. Even if he didn't get put away, she would do everything she could to legally blacken his name so that he'd be gotten the next time they took him to trial.

She could do something that would help; she was going to do it: end of story.

"Why, Stripes?" The element of despair in Murphy's voice caused her to look up. She could only imagine what Connor's face showed, but the way his arms had tightened around her like a corset told her she didn't have the heart to find out.

Smiling with more courage than she felt, she answered, "Because, I need to keep you guys around. You're my new sandwich bitch, Murph, and, Conn, I'm getting the best sleep ever sleeping with you…I could've worded that better. And Da, I just like you. You don't need a purpose."

"Lass, ye know we love ye but this isn't a joke. Ye need to think about this."

"No I don't," she replied firmly. "It's right. Papa Joe is bad and I can do something to stop him. You guys have guns; I have a testimony."

The humor in Connor's voice was clearly forced when he said lightly, "And ye bitch because ye have to worry about us, Stripes?"

Smecker rose to leave, "Everything's very vague right now, anyway. I'll keep you up-to-date on what's happening but I wouldn't worry a lot real soon. You've all got time. Stripes, I'll keep your answer in mind but if there's any way at all the DA can have this trial without you, I'm going to make it happen." He sounded sincere but doubtful about his last comment.

He had gathered his coat when he suddenly stopped, "Oh, I almost forgot. Here," he handed Da a few pieces of paper with pictures of men that Stripes immediately pegged as mobsters. "These bastards just got into town to help out Yakavetta. If you feel like working at all…"


	8. Tuesday

All righty, so about here is where I lost my muse for awhile. From here on is where I've become kind of ify with my writing and would love any suggestions or feedback you've got. I pretty much know the main plot line, but since we're heading into definitely non-movie documented territory here, I want to make sure things stay...plausible and in character, I guess.

As always, huge thanks for reading! :)

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><p>"Murphy, wake up. Murphy, wake up. Murphy, wake—"<p>

"Oh fuck ye, Stripes…" Murphy groaned. He rolled over in bed, protecting his face with his pillow so she'd stop poking him.

She could only smile, however. "All right, it's not my fault you're missing the pancakes and bacon I made you."

"I'm up! Where are these pancakes ye speak of?" Before she had the chance to answer, Murphy was already at the table and shoving pancakes onto his plate.

"Murph, you're going to ready me for motherhood, you know that?" Stripes laughed.

He grinned, "Ye'll always be Ma to me." She threw a piece of bacon at his face before sitting down in between Connor and Da. She grabbed a few pancakes herself, not noticing the long, meaningful twin glance that was occurring right over her head. They looked away as soon as she looked up again.

"So Murph, what'd ye figure it is?"

"I'm not sure, Conn. I came up with a list last night but I guess there's only one way to know, aye."

"Aye, I think ye're right."

Frowning in confusion, Stripes looked from McManus to McManus for a moment. Before she had the chance to query, they had both pulled out pieces of paper. Both sheets were covered, front and back, with scribbles of some kind that she couldn't make out.

Connor grabbed two pens off her counter, handed one to his brother, and said, "Would ye like the honors, Murph?"

"Thank ye, Conn." Stripes looked suspiciously from one to the other. They were being far too scripted here. They had the tendency to finish each other's thoughts and sentences upon occasion but not in that manner. They were up to something…

"Ok, I've got Carrie, Carla, Connie, Camille, Clarissa, Clarisse, Catie, Cleo, Cleopatra-,"

Stripes snorted, cutting him off, "Oh for Christ's sake!"

All three McManuses straightened up and said together, "Lord's fuckin' name." Connor and Murphy looked at their da and he returned the gaze. They simultaneously broke into laughter a second later. Stripes looked at them like they were all slightly addled…or drunk for that matter.

"Okay, I'm going to go shower now. You guys...don't hurt yourselves." She shoved the last bite of pancake into her mouth and sprinted to the bathroom before Connor and Murphy could decide to guess her name again.

Da casually ate his pancakes without another word until after he heard the water start. He then questioned lightly, "So Conn, how'd it go on the roof last night? Did ye and the lass come to an understanding?"

Choking violently on his bacon, Conn glared across the table as he coughed. Murphy all out laughed at the smug look on Da's face. When Connor could talk once again, he stated menacingly, "Shove off, Da. Murph, ye shut the fuck up."

He brother only continued chuckling, "Oh come off it. Ye like her. Admit it."

Sighing, he took a swig of orange juice, "Aye, and yer point is?" Neither answered; they just exchanged a satisfied smirk with each other. If Conn didn't know better he'd assume they were teenage sisters instead of father and son.

"So, we're not going to have to pin her down and force one of us to come with her to school are we?" Da asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"No. She asked me to come with her last night."

"Aye, that's what she said," Murphy whispered with a snort.

"Murph!" Connor punched him soundly in the arm. His twin just snickered like a giddy five-year-old.

Just then, the bathroom door opened the slightest bit and Stripes reprimanded teasingly, "Conn, you should really be nice to Murphy."

"But…!" Connor exclaimed before immediately cutting himself off and glaring into his pancakes. He felt like he was ten years old again when Murphy found out he liked the aforementioned Sarah Laughlin. Murph just smirked at him again. For the first time in forever, Connor felt himself blush, making him very glad his back was facing the bathroom door.

Not noticing the twin moment occurring because of her or Connor's outburst, Stripes asked with clear embarrassment, "Da, could I get your help again?"

Smiling at his sons' antics, Da rose and wiped his mouth of syrup, "Aye, lass." It was amazing to see his boys in such normal situations and interacting with each other so naturally. What they did as the Saints was important, but knowing his sons was more. He'd missed the past two decades. He didn't want to miss anymore.

TBS TBS

"Ye two have fun at school, now," Murphy said with a big grin as Connor and Stripes made to leave.

Laughing, Stripes retorted to his lounging form on the bed, "Ye have fun doing laundry, Murph."

"What?"

"There's money underneath the detergent." She quickly shut the door and pulled Connor into the elevator before the other McManus could run after her. She looked up at Connor who grinned down at her.

"Ye know, Stripes, with ye around I don't even have to work at annoying him."

She shrugged, "It's a gift."

Connor sat in the back of the lecture hall during the class Stripes taught. He knew that he hadn't known her long but she seemed to just fit up there. There was something about the way her voice held excitement and she just seemed happy. He was glad to see her happy. It was something about her that had always caught his attention when she worked at McGinty's. She never talked but she always seemed happy. Smiling and crossing his arms, he put his feet up on the empty desk in front of him.

She caught sight of him from the front of the room and grinned, "Mr. McManus," she paused long enough for the rest of the class—even those not paying any attention—to turn around and stare, "would you mind putting your feet down?"

He resisted the urge to reply with a cheeky "aye ma." Trying to be sheepish, he did as she asked, "Aye, ma'am." With a teacher's approving nod covering up her smirk, she continued with her lecture, pointing out a place on a map.

He walked up to the front of the classroom as she collected her things when the last of the students with questions had left. She purposely avoided his gaze until he asked, "Was that really necessary of ye, Stripes?"

She burst into laughter, "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed, "Ye are an evil woman, Stripes. It's why we love ye."

Her laughter stopped abruptly but she still beamed up at him. Grabbing her bag for her, he asked, "So, where are we off to next?"

He was surprised to hear her sound flustered for the first couple words, "Medieval economics, two floors up." Smiling, she linked her arm with his and led him out of the room. "If you think my classes are fun," she began sarcastically, "you're going to love this one."

He sat through the next class, not understanding a bit of what was being taught but making up for it again by watching the extreme interest on Stripes' face. When she was this happy, he just couldn't help but be happy, too. After realizing how often that was becoming true, he started, causing her to send him a concerned look. Shrugging it off to her, she went back to her notes. But it scared Conn a bit to be honest.

He had the tendency to either take forever or just jump off the deep end when it came to women. He had the disconcerting feeling that he had just walked right off a cliff and had only just realized that he hit the water. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. This was not the fuckin' time…

TBS TBS

"How'd you get into Ireland anyway? You don't look Irish."

Laughing, Stripes smirked up at Connor, "What do I look like then?" At his look, she quit teasing him. "I was in choir in high school. Yeah, I know I can't talk but I can sing. Don't ask me why it works. It just does. Anyway, we sang this song called 'Mo Ghile Mear' and I absolutely loved it but had no idea what it meant. I looked up the translation, found Gaelic, and have been in love with Ireland ever since. History was easier and more interesting to me than learning the language at the time, so here I am."

A distant smile appeared on his face. He tried to picture her up in front of people singing. She seemed to read his thoughts and bumped into him as they started up the history building's stairs to her graduate office, "Hey, stop thinking of me in my choir robe. You're making me uncomfortable, Conn," she laughed.

"As ye should be, ye phony Irishwoman," he shot back with a smile.

Fixing him with a mock glare, she stated with a thick but mostly believable accent, "Hey, ye watch yer fuckin' mouth, McManus." Connor burst into laughter, earning many confused stares from those they passed. Quickly shushing him, Stripes shrugged and touched her finger to the Virgin Mary on his neck, "I know I'm not Irish. My mother would have a cow if she ever saw me with somebody with an accent and tattoos."

"Sounds like yer ma needs to get out more."

Her laugh was a bit delayed in coming, "Maybe you're just a bad influence, Conn."

"Ye like me anyway," he smiled but then vowed to himself to get out of her what the deal with her and her family was. It was something big and it hurt her. As she began singing quietly in Gaelic to a tune he recognized vaguely, he decided perhaps it could wait until later in the week. Slinging an arm over her shoulders he kissed her temple with a smile. Immediately, she leaned into his side without hesitation.

Aye, it could wait...

TBS TBS

"Murphette, we're home! Where's my sandwich?"

"In the fuckin' fridge where you can make it yerself," Murphy shouted from the bathroom when Stripes and Connor returned home that afternoon. He emerged with damp hair and a towel around his waist and immediately began berating her, "Stripes, ye evil fuckin' woman, I am never being made to do yer laundry again! Ye can do it yerself. I am not going to the fuckin' Laundromat and having the women stare at me like I'm fuckin' gay as I sort yer fuckin' underwear!"

Connor snorted with laughter, trying weakly to turn it into a cough. His twin glared murderously at him.

Stripes, however, dissolved his anger in a single comment. She scoffed lightly as she went about unloading her bag, "Oh Murph, those stares weren't because they thought you were gay. Those stares were because they were all dreaming you were touching their underwear instead of mine."

The glare on the dark-haired McManus vanished, replaced by a complimented grin, "Aye, ye think so?" Da chuckled from his chair, shaking his head.

Conn glared, suddenly affronted at the fact she was indirectly calling Murphy hot. "Hey, what about me here?"

Blushing slightly, Stripes replied without looking up, "You're twins, Connor. If one is hot then so is the other." Regaining her joking tone, she teased, "It's you guys' personalities that drive women away."

Da chuckled and Murphy protested vehemently. She kept her head down for so long to hide her own that she didn't notice the blush that spread across Connor's face. It was gone by the time she looked up and asked cheerfully, "So, what do you want for supper…besides beer? Yes, Murphy, you guys have to help me cook."

An hour later, a small array of incredibly wonderful smelling foods sat before the current residents of Stripes' apartment. Despite an injured arm and no ability to turn her head fully side to side, Stripes proved an amazing cook. As Murphy stuck his finger in the macaroni and cheese to "sample" it, he questioned, "Where'd you learn to cook, Stripes?"

She stiffened ever so slightly before shrugging with feigned insouciance, "It's kind of a family thing."

"Damn, if our Ma could cook this good we'd have never fuckin' left home."

Finishing Murphy's thought, Connor added, "Not that she can't cook. Ye're just…better."

Forcing a smile, she attempted to retort, "I do aim to please." It came out more strained than she'd intended. She continued staring at the plates, attempting to center her emotions before the creeping things could overtake her again. When it came to her family, she either became incredibly sad or incredibly angry. She'd already had the angry for the day; apparently it was time for the sad.

She missed the twin look being exchanged over her head. Raising his eyebrows as I to say, "it's all you" to his twin, Murphy grabbed his and Da's plates and sat down.

Lowering his voice, if only to give the illusion of privacy, Conn asked, "Ye all right?"

Glancing up at him, Stripes suddenly found herself feeling incredibly better when confronted with those concerned grey eyes. Nodding, she handed him a plate, "Aye. I'll be just fine."

TBS TBS

Stripes frowned as she woke up, drowsy but suddenly pleasantly warm in the night. Blinking for a moment, she looked around to see what had woken her up. Thrown across her stomach was the bare arm of Connor, who was sleeping on his stomach. Frown turning into a smile, Stripes readjusted her injured arm before closing her eyes again. There was a reason she wouldn't let them sleep on the floor…


	9. Never Again

Otay, first of all, thank you thank you thank you to my reviewers! You have no idea how much better I feel about what I've written and where it's going now that I know I'm not doing a horrible job. It makes my muse happy. Sometimes it's just nice to know that what the characters and your muse are telling you to do doesn't seem crazy to other people. :D

So, here's the next chapter. Hit me with any feedback you've got and thanks so much for reading!

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><p>When Wednesday dawned, Stripes found herself being escorted to school by Da. At first, she felt guilty for him coming along. With Conn and Murphy it was a chance to tease them—all right, and a chance to have some truly grand alone time with Conn—but she didn't feel the need to antagonize Da as much as them. However, he truly seemed to enjoy it. For being imprisoned away from his home for the last twenty years, he was very well read on his country's history. Stripes found his conversation and commentary on all her classes intriguing. In the afternoon, when she had her graduate office hours, she had him read what she had on her thesis to that point.<p>

Quite happily, she realized she was beginning to see him more and more as her da than her own father. The McManuses were becoming her family more surely with each day she spent with them. There was no going back…

He was a much better father figure than her dad had been, anyway. Her father was very no nonsense. Things happened his way or they didn't happen at all and there was no room for error. Imagination was for the poor artists and individuality overrated when it came to making money. She chalked it up to the businessman in him. Her mom was the same way, though with a greater allowance for creativity. They were practical to the point of being cold at times. She'd felt loved growing up most of the time, sure. She just hadn't felt like she'd fit with them. What was important to them didn't interest her in the slightest and her passions were mere frivolities to them.

She'd been obedient and done what they said because that was what was expected of her. She was a good daughter and they got along with a good if not heart-warming and hugging family relationship. At least, until she caused the schism with her commitment of the Ultimate Sin, as she'd come to refer to the event two years ago.

Her family had been lost to her with that action. They might not have been especially close but the loss of them still stung. She could probably try and mend fences but it was one thing her pride couldn't allow. She wasn't going to apologize for what she'd done. She'd been wrong but she felt she'd been justified.

None of that mattered, much at least, because she had a family again. She had the McManuses. She felt more at home with them, despite everything that had happened, than she ever had with her family.

After Da had read her thesis and given her his take on it—which was encouragingly good—she looked up hesitantly at him. He chuckled, noticing the reserved countenance that had become odd in the time he'd known her, "Ye look confuzzled there, lass."

She smiled at his use of the word she tended to use more often than she realized before becoming shy again. "Da, why did you leave them? Why didn't you stay? Why'd you have to come over here? I'm guessing you had the IRA at home…"

The older man's smile faded and he sighed. She expected there to be a long silence as he pondered his answer, like he usually did, but there wasn't. It seemed Da had considered this question before.

"I was restless, lass. We needed the money and killing is what I'm good at, but truth be told, I was restless. I was young and had just been blessed with two sons that were going to keep me in Ireland for the foreseeable future without a responsible way to wander again. As much as I loved those two boys and Annabelle, I needed to go out places. I needed to get off the island for a while at regular intervals. It would always be there when I came back, so I didn't really give it much of a thought. I was stupid. The job was supposed to be my last one. I'd promised Annabelle that I was going to come home and never leave the island again. I meant it, too…I think. Then, I got caught and sent to prison. If growing older wouldn't have matured the wanderlust out of me, then that place made sure it got squashed."

Da looked down at his hands, clasped on the table in front of him, "After a week in solitary, I knew that I didn't want anything but to go home and see my girl and my boys again. I didn't want to leave them again…" He trailed off there.

Stripes smiled, "Good thing you found them again. So," she changed the subject to her thesis to keep him from having to become anymore emotional, "what's this word mean?"

A smile crept across his warm but wizened features, "Ye are a good girl, lass. I know it doesn't sound like much of a compliment but really it is." She opened her mouth to protest to her flaws—she was rather good at seeing them—but he cut her off, "I know ye aren't perfect. Nobody but the good Lord is, but, lass, ye sure are awful close when it comes to the ones ye love. Ye are bossier than anything when ye put your mind to it, but we love ye for it."

Blushing bright red, she sighed after a moment, "Da, why couldn't you have been my dad?"

Chuckling again, he bent over her paper, seemingly inspecting that word she'd asked about, "Because then Conn would be yer brother and none of us want that, lass. That word means enlightened."

Her mouth open as if she was anything but enlightened, Stripes could only stare at Da for a very long time. She never did get around to answering him about that. He had to grin when she finally close her mouth and attempt to go back to normal, despite the bright red blush on her cheeks.

Murphy wasn't far from the mark with his thoughts the morning before after all.

TBS TBS

"I'm sorry we didn't get farther with the translation, lass," Da apologized as they rode the elevator up to her apartment that evening. Most of the afternoon had been spent talking—about anything but Connor being her brother—instead of making any serious headway on the document. She had the grammar basics down fairly well, now, however.

Shrugging, she shook her head, "Oh, it's fine. I've got another month to get this finished and I'm over half done. I've never handed anything in late before and I won't start now."

"Oh, we know that all too well, lass."

Blushing bright red at the Sunday incident, she made a face at him before opening the door. She didn't get any farther than a single step inside. The scene before her paralyzed her where she stood. Her lungs didn't even rise to breathe as her eyes widened.

Her kitchen table had been cleared off of everything but a shirtless Connor. The chairs were thrown hastily askew. Blood was once again covering the surface as it came seeping dangerously out of Conn's now battered and bullet-holed left side. Murphy was standing over him, her iron red hot in one hand, kitchen towel in the other.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Stripes screamed, the blush and blood now completely drained from her face. Springing into action without thinking, she grabbed onto Murphy's arm with all her might and tried to pull the hot iron away from Conn. Even as her wounded shoulder popped when he woke up and began to resist, she refused to let go—at a complete loss for how they had suddenly lost their minds.

"Lass, calm down. We've gotta do it," Da said soothingly, immediately knowing what had happened and what they were doing. It was what had to happen when you couldn't go to a hospital. He scooted her bags in the door and shut it behind him, swiftly locking it to be safe.

Wrenching the iron from Murphy's hand with angry strength and throwing it violently into the sink full of dishes where it sent a pillar of steam into the air, she turned to face the trio, "Aye, the bloody fuckin' hell you do!"

Her tone clearly dared them to contradict her, as her breaking into a profane Irish accent connoted by then. It took Connor a long moment to do so. He was clearly in pain when he rasped, "Stripes, it helps. It hurts but it helps. Come on..."

Her anger drained away with each word. She _hated_ seeing them hurt. Ignoring the tears flowing down her cheeks, she simply pointed first at him and then to herself, "Near-death experience. Ma…Conn, you promised me no crying."

"Dammit. That's not fair, Stripes," Connor whispered. Da and Murphy's confusion was clear when her face melted into guilt, knowing that he was right. "Stripes, I'm beggin' ye. Give him the iron. Please."

Ever so slowly, she turned and grabbed the iron from the sink and held it out to Murphy, refusing to look away from Conn. She flinched when she heard the gas of her stove flare up, heating the horrid object again. It didn't take long before she perceived Murphy picking it up and moving towards Conn.

It was when Da moved forward and leaned on his son's legs, holding him down, that she finally had to look away. After stifling a sob, she attempted to smile in Connor's direction, "Ye are never fucking doing this to me again, Connor McManus. I don't care if I have to tie you down somewhere." Sensing the sarcastic snort that should've come at that, she stated weakly despite the silence, "Shut up, Murphy."

The four of them stood silent and unmoving for a long moment, Conn's pain-laden breathing the only sound. She stared determinedly at the stove until she felt Conn's gaze on her. She looked up, trying and immediately failing to keep the tears back at seeing the pain in his eyes. Da was finally the one to break the silence, "Murphy, that's going to get too cool soon. Lass, ye leave if that's what you need."

Stripes nodded but didn't get more than a step toward the door before her mind changed. Pulling her sling off and dropping it, she didn't say a word as she climbed up behind Connor and wrapped her good arm around the upper portion of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through his back as he wound his right arm around her leg, holding onto her jeans, and slipped his left behind her head.

Murph moved to place the kitchen towel between Conn's teeth but she shook her head, "Use the oven mitt in the top cupboard by the sink. It's thicker." He nodded and did as she said without a word.

"Ye ready," Murphy asked.

Stripes and Conn answered in unison, though Conn was a bit muffled, "Fuck no."

Murph smirked at that before instructing his brother to look up and away. Stripes joined him as she saw the iron begin to descend. She buried her face into his neck when he began to scream through the cloth and his fingers convulsed in her hair. Ignoring the slight pop, she brought her left arm up and intertwined her fingers with his, giving them both something to grab onto that couldn't be pulled out of her head. She could all but feel the pain through his fingers as they held onto hers for dear life.

The few seconds the horrible ordeal took felt like a few years. Even as Murphy removed the iron and Da let up on Conn's legs, he and Stripes did not move. She made sure her tears that had begun when she heard his skin sizzle stopped before pulling her face from his neck. She put her chin on his shoulder as he tried to take deep breaths.

She could feel them on her face when he turned to face her, "Thanks Stripes."

Smiling weakly, she whispered, "Please, never again," before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Murphy, if you ever do this to me, too, I'll…I'll…" Not coming up with what she would do she ended with, "Just don't do this to me, too."

"Aye, Ma," Murph replied, less ornery than usual. He was just as shaken as she was. Pressing a red hot iron into his twin's side wasn't something he exactly looked forward to.

Without another glance, she slid off the table and disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments. Connor swung his legs over the side of the table, holding his side. Murphy grinned and raised his eyebrows in the direction of the bathroom door. Teasing Conn about Stripes always seemed to make Murphy feel better…

Hurling the oven mitt in his brother's direction, Connor glared. Seriously, he couldn't let this teenage girl idea rest for ten minutes? Both put smiles on their faces when, she returned with a bottle of pills in her hand.

"Here, I never take medicine above Tylenol. These are full strength from the hospital."

"Why the fuck didn't you use them? You're fuckin' worse off than he is." Murphy looked at Stripes with clear disbelief. He'd seen her the day she came back from the hospital and she'd told them what she'd been through. Her face was still purple with bruises in most places and her neck was gruesome. Given that he was still the one to clean it most nights, he knew. All that seemed like more than enough reason to take some decent painkillers. The glance he shared with his brother clearly said that Conn didn't understand either.

Answering without hesitation, she replied, "My mom took pills whenever she was stressed, which was all the time. I decided back in high school after trying it myself that I'd rather feel everything than nothing. Tylenol is all I'll ever have." Murph paused for a moment, processing that, before nodding. Good reason. It felt oddly liberating to Stripes to be able to talk about all the parts of her she kept secret without any doubts. It felt liberating to be so loved.

Changing the subject, Connor smiled, "Thanks, Stripes."

Smirking, she raised an eyebrow at him, "Don't thank me yet. You don't get alcohol with those."

He immediately dropped them as if they were as hot as the iron that had just been pressed into his skin. Looking from the bottle on the ground to her face, he suddenly sighed, "I don't get a fuckin' choice, do I?"

"Nope," she replied as she got herself situated on the bed, books surrounding her so she could begin her homework.

"Fuck," was all he said as he climbed up next to her.

TBS TBS

Da sat down next to his son on the ledge of roof later that night, pulling his coat tighter around himself in the cold.

Stripes and Murphy were in her apartment, bickering about something and everything more than likely, and probably readying themselves to begin throwing things at each other. And she said Murphy and Conn bickered…

Connor had needed a break to let his nicotine addiction be satiated. Though, he had to admit, he'd been smoking a lot less since Stripes had come back alive on Monday.

He glanced up as Da sat next to him, smiling slightly, "Hey Da."

"Conn." They sat in companionable silence for a while before Da asked, "So, how did today go, aside from yer side?"

"We got four of them. One of Smecker's guys wasn't there."

Da nodded. It made sense. Smecker had given them multiple possible locations. Things were going to start being even more dangerous now that Papa Joe was running scared. Yes, he'd killed Rocco, thinking he was the mastermind, but the mob boss knew what they looked like now. They just had to pray the Russians didn't start gunning for them as much as the Italians, or even worse team up. Da was good and so were his boys, but there was a line that separated slightly more involved civic duty and suicidal tendencies.

"Did ye notice anything interesting?"

Taking a long drag, Conn looked at him with slight confusion, "What do ye mean?"

Da shrugged, "Anything. Any signs of Russians? Papa Joe? Just anything?"

"Not that we noticed. We were pretty quick in and out, though." He and Murph had spent a grand total of ten minutes in the drug warehouse masquerading as a suburban home. They'd been sure to hit the house around two, when school was still in session. The four mafia members hadn't known what hit them. If Papa Joe had mentioned anything to them about the increasing danger of being a criminal, they hadn't taken it seriously. The one who'd hit him had been the only one to get off a shot.

"We'll have ta be on the lookout. We can't keep doing this if we're dead, lad. We have to pray they stay stupid long enough."

After a long pause, Connor asked while staring at the lit end of his cigarette, "We're goin' to leave her, aren't we, Da."

They both knew the answer to that. Da clapped his son on the shoulder before standing, "Not quite yet. Let's make sure Murphy and the lass haven't killed each other." Giving Conn a hand up, they started the trek down the stairs to Stripes' apartment.

The idling car sitting at the end of the alley went unnoticed. Its lights were off and the only sound aside from the hum of the engine was the Russian music coming through the cracked windows multiple cigarettes were hanging out of.


	10. Thursday

Hey, everyone. So, as it were my Christmas break starts next week and I don't have internet at home. I'm going to try to get at least another one up before then, but with finals, we'll see. Thanks for the great feedback on the last chapter. It makes me smile. :) Also, just to clarify, I've never seen the second movie and don't have any plans to include it in this story or anything.

Thanks for reading and let me know any thoughts you've got! :)

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><p>"Damn, Murph, will you shut up!" Stripes laughed despite the hot blush on her cheeks. Murphy was her babysitter for the day and he was in a particularly ornery mood. She suspected it was to get her back for making him do her laundry. He wasn't easily embarrassed but she definitely was.<p>

He grinned, "Am I embarrassing ye, Stripes?"

"Yes, for God's sake, you're belting out songs across campus. You can't sing that high and I work with these people," she laughed again. Murphy's complete lack of dignity when he was feeling ornery amused her.

" Aye, Ma." Linking his arm through her good one, Murphy gave her a smile reminding her of a self-satisfied four-year-old, "Grá agat dom."

"Unfortunate but true, I do love you anyway." Grabbing a hold of the door handle to the history building, she commented, "So, you're lucky, Murph. I only have one class today and I teach it."

Groaning just to annoy her, he questioned, "And this is at all good how, Stripes?"

"Da had to sit through four," she replied, leveling a look at him. Murphy was very quiet after that…

TBS TBS

"So, what's next? Are we done?" Murphy questioned as Stripes dismissed her students and headed toward his seat in the back of the room.

"You wish. No, I've got four hours of office hours next. You get to teach me that wonderful language of yours."

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he sighed, "Ye know, Stripes, sometimes I think ye're too much trouble fer my own good."

"Darling, I do what I can."

"Don't let Conn hear ye talking like that, Stripes. He'll fuckin' kill me," Murph joked.

Letting out an exasperated noise, Stripes threw her one good arm up in the air, nearly smacking him in the face. "What is it with you and Da and bringing up me and Conn? Seriously? What is the fascination ye two have for something that isn't fucking there?" She stomped forward, leaving a shocked and rather confused McManus in her wake.

Shuddering a tad bit, Murph shook his head in confusion. He would never understand women. He'd accepted this simple fact long ago, but the depth of which they confused him baffled him sometimes. Swearing lightly, he jogged after the apparently jilted in some way one before him.

Her long black hair swayed dangerously behind her as she trudged up the stairs toward her office. Murph stayed a step below her for the two floors and stayed silent until she all but threw the few belongings he allowed her to carry down on the chair in her off…no, that room was a fucking closet. He kinda felt like a mental patient in the claustrophobic, medically white room. He guessed Stripes had felt that way at some point, too, because she'd hung cut-out stars from the ceiling tiles. Pulling his train of thought back to the issue at hand, Murph sat down across from her.

By then, she had crossed her good arm over her sling and had a look of pure irritation on her face that he hadn't seen since the last time she and Rocco had been in the same room. His stomach gave an unpleasant clench at the thought of Roc, but if he did say so himself, Murph was rather good at burying his feelings until a later time. They always came out but he could delay, especially if denied alcohol.

Staring at her until she finally looked at him, Murphy began, "Stripes, why are ye so fucking mad? I'm just a poor fucking guy that ye didn't have the decency to let get drunk before ye started pouting. Also, if ye give me the excuse that I should already know, I will chuck yer fucking underwear out the window when we get home."

He watched with amusement as ever so slowly the corners of her mouth refused to stay down and a small smile appeared. Finally allowing herself to laugh, Stripes sighed, "I'm sorry Murph. It's just that no one's ever really teased me about this stuff before. It's…weird."

"Nobody's ever teased you about liking their twin brother before? Odd… I thought that happened to everyone."

Smacking his knee with her now only socked foot, Stripes corrected his sarcasm, "No! I've never been teased about liking anyone at all!" Catching herself, she hurriedly added, "What makes you think I like Conn like _that_ anyway?"

"Because I'm still breathin'," snorted Murphy. It was pretty fucking obvious.

Her mouth opened and closed without a sound a few times before she commented haughtily, "I just don't understand why two men only ever want to talk about it. Do you do this to Conn when I'm not around, too?"

"Oh ye don't know the half of it," he smirked. She smiled at him, knowing that they were in all probability far meaner to Conn than her, before beginning to rummage for the notebook she'd been putting her Gaelic notes in.

Murph stopped her cold when he commented with an edge of seriousness, "Stripes, it fascinates us because Da's never seen Conn like this and it's been a long time since I have. When it comes to women, I'm the quantity and he's the quality. I've had ten times as many girlfriends as him. I don't care what he fuckin' says. If he's as open about his feelings and all that shit as he is when it comes to ye, it's a big fuckin' deal. It just takes him a while to realize it, usually. And, given that ye were too fuckin' shy to talk to us for two months, I'm betting it's a bit of an event for ye, too."

Stripes remained very still, blush rising in her cheeks until Murph took pity on her with a smile, "So, shall we get this teacher shit out of the way so I can get back to singin'?"

TBS TBS

With one more day at college being a quiet one, filled only with classes, books, awkward conversations about Connor, and Gaelic lessons, Stripes and Murphy returned home feeling good about themselves. To the surprise of them both, Murphy proved an amazing teacher. There was something effortless about the way he managed to explain everything from sentence structure to pronunciation. Not that Da or Connor was inept, Stripes just learned better with Murphy.

Plus, any of the three McManuses could simply make her laugh when she got frustrated.

He and Conn were doing just that that night after supper as she attempted to distractedly work on the Gaelic translating she had to do. Da walked in, returning from whatever secret things he'd done that day, to smirk at the scene before him. He'd left Conn early that morning, not long after Murphy and Stripes departed, saying only that he had to see Agent Smecker. Conn didn't ask, but had wondered for the rest of the day as he was forced to choose between daytime television and history books. He'd chosen history books…

The three of them were seated around the table, Murphy with his feet up and a beer in front of him, Connor with water and an arm around Stripes waist, and Stripes atop his lap, avoiding his injured side and stealing sips from both boys' drinks at will.

Da raised his eyebrows questioningly as to her position when he glanced at Murphy. There were two perfectly empty chairs right next to them. His son merely grinned with a wink.

Smiling at his entrance, Stripes greeted, "Hey Da, how is Smecker?"

"Fine, lass, fine. He's gotten himself a prosecutor he likes, apparently." He left out the true nature of his business with the FBI agent, because their two hour meeting had not pertained to Papa Joe's legal case. That had been covered in the first few minutes of small talk. No, he wasn't going to tell the lass about the plans he had begun making. "How was school?"

"Grand. It turns out your son isn't completely worthless, after all," she teased. "He can teach."

Murph smirked into his beer, "Only because it turns out ye aren't completely stupid, Stripes."

Connor burst out laughing, causing him to clutch his side in pain, when she grabbed the glass and threw water in Murphy's direction. Hearing Conn groan softly as he moved, Stripes turned with a frown, "You all right?" His smile answered her question.

Chuckling, Da interceded before Murphy could go through with splashing her with beer, "Play nice, now, ye two."

Connor lifted Stripes off his lap and sat her on Murphy's as he rather stiffly got up to refill his glass. Smiling, she said with mock affront, "Jeez Conn, just drop me on Murph. It's like you don't even care."

"Nonsense," Conn grinned, twin looks being exchanged between them.

Murphy finished with a smirk, "We're twins… we share."

Immediately blushing at the implication, Stripes scurried out of his lap before bursting into laughter with them. "Hey, there will be no sharing. I'm going for the _older_ twin."

Grinning as he leaned against the counter, Conn stated, "Ye'd better get Ma to tell ye then or we'll all be in suspense until we fuckin' die."

Frowning suddenly, putting her feet up on the table as Murph slung an arm around her shoulders, Stripes looked Da's way slyly. "Hey, why ask her? She wasn't the only one there that day if I recall the story correctly…"

Da pretended to not catch her drift as he took his place in his recliner and opened the paper, "Don't fuckin' look at me, boys."

"Aw, come on, Da!" Murph protested.

"Aye, ye know how Ma is. She'll never tell us once she's put her mind to it," Conn finished.

Sighing, Da folded the paper down to glance over it, "Let me get this straight. Ye two have been asking yer Ma who's older since ye were little and she is refusing to tell ye."

"Aye."

"Then, ye two are screwed. I'm not dealing with yer Ma if I spill the fuckin' beans. I'll never hear the end of it. She's already got enough reason to berate me."

Stripes laughed as Murphy and Conn pouted as their latest plans were thwarted. She got up and gave them both kisses on the cheek, "Hey, at least I love you both the same no matter who's older."

Snorting, Murphy muttered, "I sure fuckin' hope not." Stripes slugged him in the shoulder.

TBS TBS

"Stripes, what on earth are ye doin' in there?" Conn and Murphy exchanged a glance as they pulled off their boots and placed their rosaries on the dresser.

Conn added as they situated themselves on her bed, "Ye've been there a fuckin' hour. Are ye still a fuckin' live?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be out soon," she called with what sounded like a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. True to her word, she emerged a few minutes later with wet hair and the sickeningly strong scent of fruit surrounding her.

Coughing against it, Murph demanded, "What the fuckin' hell is that?"

Laughing lightly, Stripes answered with a slight blush, "It's hair dye. I had to redo mine tonight." She was immediately confronted with three McManuses sitting straight up and staring at her with surprise in their identical eyes. Busying herself with straightening books she suddenly deemed messy, she queried, "What?"

"But…But it looks the fuckin' same," Conn exclaimed.

She nodded, grabbing the comb off her dresser and beginning to brush the long locks, "Well, yeah. I dye it black. I have been for years."

A twin look was exchanged before her and both shouted at the same time, "How do you really fuckin' look then?"

Da laughed at the slightly trapped look on her face. "Ummm, like this but with not black hair…"

Murphy continued to tease her as she climbed in between them, resulting in him being hit in the arm a few times as he tried to discover her natural hair color.

Conn fell silent, lost in his thoughts as it became suddenly and painfully apparent just how little they knew about Stripes and her past. It bothered him for two reasons, and the inequality of those reasons was what really threw him.

Not that Murphy was stupid in the slightest, but Conn had always been the thinker and planner between them. Murphy tended to let his emotions lead his actions. Most of that time that only resulted in the occasional broken heart or the many occasioned bar fight. Whenever confronted with a problem, Murph always seemed to know what to do instantly. He felt what he felt and he knew what he knew. It's what made arguing with him so damn difficult. Conn was the one that came up with what to do in his head, thought everything through. He was much better at ignoring his heart than his twin. In twenty-seven years, he hadn't figured out if that was a good thing or not.

As all this occurred to him, Conn wished he didn't think about things so much.

Given he and Murph's recent career change, Stripes' lack of a past was bothering his brain. They'd known her for only a little over a month and a half. Given the complete illegality of what they now did, the rational part of Conn's brain was screaming they should be running a fucking background check on her or something. What they didn't know about her could potentially hurt them. Conn knew he couldn't survive without Murphy, and he wasn't about to lose his Da again.

That was what his head was telling him, even with everything she'd done for them. Even if her past didn't have to do with the mob, it could still get them arrested or something. They should make sure.

But what truly surprised him once he thought about it was that all that rational thought was being completely, effortlessly drowned out until he had to actually think hard to find it. No, what was filling his head was the overwhelming need to know what it was about Stripes' past that had hurt her so much. What had made her too shy to talk to people? What had made her so alone? Why did her family hate her so much? How was she getting a master's degree but living in the poorest part of South Boston?

And, for that matter, when had she become so completely perfect?

For the first time in his life when he was not inebriated, Connor McManus's heart was doing all his thinking for him and the fact that it didn't scare him in the slightest scared the fuckin' hell out of him…

He was jolted rather violently from his deep thoughts when Murph smacked him across the back of the head and whispered fiercely, "Conn, move yer fuckin' arm."

He looked down to realize that Stripes had fallen asleep against him and his arm had unconsciously wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Murphy was kneeling beside the bed, disinfectant and a cloth in his hands to clean the cut on her neck as they'd taken to doing when she fell asleep every night. As Conn rejoined the land of the conscious, Murph grinned, "Aye, wake up and stop fuckin' dreaming about her."

"Fuck you," he whispered back. "Why the fuck do I put up with ye?" It was so damn annoying when Murph was so fuckin' smug about things …and right about them.


	11. Friday Pt 1

I am so, so, so sorry this took so long to get up! Unfortunately, I'm plagued with an inescapable lack of internet when I'm home over breaks. For those of you still with me, thanks so much for dealing with the wait. I promise I tried to make it worth it! As always, let me know what you think and thanks for reading! :)

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><p>As the sunlight filtered through her window and onto her face, Stripes awoke with a small groan. She didn't want to get up. She was far too comfortable. Instead of opening her eyes and rising, she curled back down into the warm covers. She froze when she heard a groan almost identical to hers but a couple octaves lower.<p>

Snapping open her eyes, she found a hand bearing 'VERITAS' resting possessively on her right arm. She blinked at it a few times before fully comprehending what she was seeing. She quickly turned her head to see Conn, immediately regretting the act as her neck protested painfully. His arm tightened across her stomach at the movement and he groaned sleepily again as he buried his face deeper into the pillow splayed with her hair.

Somewhere along the line, sleeping in between Murphy and Connor had evolved into spooning with Conn…

Unable to keep the incandescent smile off her face, Stripes looked forward again to see Da looking at them with amusement, newspaper folded in his lap indicating he'd been doing so for a while. Too inexplicably happy to be embarrassed, she returned his smile. By some miracle, Murphy was still asleep; therefore, unable to tease her and Conn until they both physically assaulted him.

Sighing after a few moments, she shifted to lie on her back, Conn's arm again protesting the movement. Wanting something between her and Conn to remain immune to Murphy's teasing, she began gently poking his nose and whispering his name. She was confronted with groggy and surprised grey eyes when they snapped open. He blinked a few times, not unlike she had.

Stripes had to hold back a giggle. She'd never actually been _this_ close to Conn when he woke up and the sleepy way his eyes were flitting around, trying to figure out what was going on, struck her as funny. Her laugh abruptly caught in her throat when his gaze became focused on her. She was suddenly _very_ aware of his arm across her stomach and the tingles it was causing…

Both jumped violently when the loud noise of her telephone echoed across the apartment.

As Murph awoke with a yell and jolted off the bed, Conn instantly retracted his arm and pushed himself up without looking at her. He didn't look back as he slipped his rosary over his head and padded toward the counter filled with her books. Stripes frowned, suddenly hurt at his reaction, as Da answered the phone. She suddenly wondered if Murphy and Da had been wrong. What if they were wrong about what Conn felt about her? She of all people could think of plenty of reasons why someone wouldn't want to love her. Maybe she'd just been kidding herself the whole time. Murphy, Da, and Conn were her family, that she believed, but she'd been wrong to get her hopes up about…anything else.

Maybe, _hopefully_, she was overreacting.

Forcing a smile at Murphy's cursing about it being 6:30 as he pulled himself off the floor, she focused back in on what Da was saying, "Aye, yes she is. Hold on a minute." He covered the speaking end of the receiver and handed it to her. "It's yer professor."

Burying her insecurities as far inside her as she could, Stripes took the phone and sounded as alert and not confused as she could, "Hello." She handed it back to Da a moment later to put back on its cradle. Slipping off the bed, she padded into the kitchen and began grabbing cups, explaining as she went, "I don't have any classes today. A water pipe broke in the history building and they're going to take the weekend to get it fixed."

Turning on the coffeemaker for Da, she started gathering things to make breakfast, given she didn't have to leave. Despite her injured arm, she enjoyed making them food, though she never turned away help, in fact, she demanded it at times. However, she wasn't in the mood for help right then. Cooking was nice because it gave the illusion of being highly engrossed in something: it halted unwanted questions.

Despite her best efforts, her off-kilter mood was painfully clear to the men watching her. And to the other two, Conn's awkwardness was also obvious. He was looking at Stripes like a kindergarten boy did the girl he was too shy to talk to and decided to save face by acting like he didn't care. A disgruntled Murphy looked first at his father to make sure he wasn't imagining things, and after receiving an agreeing glance, he commenced glaring murderously at his twin as he pulled a clean shirt on.

What had Conn done? It had to be him somehow. What else would bother Stripes before the day had even begun? As the women he'd met went, she was usually fairly logical in her anger and whatnot. This led him to believe that it had to have been Conn. It sure as fuckin' hell wasn't him.

Conn would always be his twin, a part of him, really. He and Conn were like two halves of a consciousness stuck in two different bodies. They thought the same things, felt most of the same things, they just went about them differently. And what he was sensing from his brother and Stripes, who was a sister in all but name, was fear. Of all the fuckin' stupid feelings to feel, why did they both have to be fuckin' scared? It was just stupid.

And, if he knew anything about Conn and his love life—which he decidedly did—Stripes had a lot more to be scared about than his twin. Conn wasn't so shy he couldn't speak to women or _anyone_. Conn wasn't alienated by his family. Conn didn't have a fear of the world to dictate a fear of relationships. Connor had had good relationships. They'd ended but they hadn't all been bad.

Dammit, Murphy loved his twin, but Conn needed to man the fuck up here.

It took a moment but Conn seemed to finally feel the ireful vibes being hurled at him. He frowned a first, assuming Murphy was cranky because he'd fallen off the bed. Then his brother's gaze repeatedly flicked toward Stripes' turned back where she was mixing some sort of food. She generally would've started chatting by this point, yet she remained steadfastly silent.

As Conn came to look back at his brother, Murphy had crossed his arms and nodded toward her. The resemblance to their Ma was disturbing that early in the morning. Sighing, suddenly really wanting a cigarette, he hesitated a few more seconds. What he'd realized last night about how he felt about her continued to run through his head. The way he'd completely fallen for her without really realizing it terrified him. Waking up that close to her, now knowing how he fuckin' felt and not knowing what she did, was not a good way to start the morning.

He was suddenly smacked in the face and out of his thoughts as Murphy threw a clean black t-shirt at him none too gently. Glaring back at his brother, he changed. Somehow in that few seconds of darkness as he pulled the shirt over his head, he came to a decision. What did he have to lose? It wasn't as if his brain could force him to feel differently. Even if Stripes didn't like him the same way, she was still Stripes. He still loved her just as much as the rest of his family. In fact, it might be better if she didn't like him back. He wasn't sure what Da was up to, but he knew they couldn't risk her safety by staying with her forever. There was a fine line between protecting her and endangering her, and he knew they were going to begin flirting with it. For all that he hated them, mobsters weren't all stupid.

Whatever happened, shying away from Stripes wasn't the best course of action…for either of them.

With that accepted in his mind and his feelings sorted out, Conn decided that he was going to refrain from being so fuckin' emotional in the morning. It made his brain do odds things.

Chucking his dirty shirt back at Murphy, he came up beside Stripes and pulled himself onto the counter. She ignored him at first, continuing to mix what looked like more pancakes. She finally had to look up when he held her cinnamon hostage. Those normally trusting green eyes narrowed at him for a moment, trying to figure out what to do, what to feel.

Not surprising to Stripes, it took all of five seconds being confronted with Conn's smile before she smiled back. She really was pathetic; although, she was completely okay with it. When it came to Conn, she just couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't shy around him for more than just his being nice to her. She wasn't just a lost puppy dog that he'd condescended to take in. It wasn't like that with any of them. Even if her doubts made her not believe it sometimes, they really did genuinely like her…they loved her. And she liked Conn probably more than she should, but for once, she was going to do her best not to worry about it. She was going to just go with it. She was going to have her feelings and not just hide them deep inside.

She hadn't been able to for the rest of the week prior to that morning and she wasn't going to start trying now.

Grinning, decidedly proud of herself, she went back to mixing, merely holding out her hand for the cinnamon. The renewed quality of Conn's smile let her know that whatever had been bothering him earlier, he'd figured out. Choosing not to comment on the spooning that had triggered the whole thing, she asked without looking back, "So, what're you guys going to be up to today? More work?"

Both brothers looked to Da. He'd been distinctly mum about what to do next after Conn and Murph had gotten back two days prior. Pushing himself up out of the chair with a stiff groan, he walked toward the kitchen table, "Aye. Murph and I are. Smecker mentioned a couple of new people to me yesterday. Ye're gonna have to make sure Conn behaves himself, lass." It was small, but you could see the mischievous, Murphy-like twinkle in his eye when he looked between the two of them.

Stripes caught it as she grabbed the cup of coffee she'd poured him and placed it on the table. Narrowing her eyes, she smiled, "Ye McManuses are a subtle bunch, aren't ye."

Catching her meaning, he shrugged as he took a large sip of the caffeine before him, "It's not so much about subtlety, as we just don't like ta beat around the bush."

"Sure it is. I just think you and Murph found a new hobby."

"We have to have something, lass." He grinned, "It's not as if we can go out and enjoy the opera or something."

"At least you could understand it if you did go," she quipped before falling silent with a smile. As she continued stirring, Murphy and Conn began asking about the job that day. Stripes was surprised they spoke of it while she was around. Generally, they waited until she was in the shower. She always caught a few words or the tail end of a conversation in the ten or so seconds it took for them to realize she'd shut the water off, but never more. She hadn't decided if she was happy about never "seeing them in action" or not. Monday didn't really count given that she'd been hiding behind a closed door. She knew killing was wrong, but every fiber of her being told her what they were doing was right. She didn't know if she was devout enough to believe that God had sent them on the task, but she realized what she believed didn't matter. They believed it and that was enough for them.

She listened with half an ear as they discussed a warehouse also in the South Side. It was an Italian mob holding. Smecker had said there would only be a few men there, likely. It was a temporary place they kept their drugs before distributing them out. The more they talked, discussing the area, the more she listened with a stiffening back.

"Which way should we go in then, Da?"

"Aye," Conn continued, "Even if there aren't many it'd be better to get them by surprise. A garage door isn't very surprising."

Before Da could answer, Stripes replied as she dug through a cupboard for the griddle, "There's a back door on the water side. I don't know if you'll have to deal with a lock, though. It opened and I didn't stick around to examine anything."

She'd realized along the way that they were talking about her warehouse. She'd spent enough time inside to recognize the drugs about her and she could piece together the buildings she ran past bleeding to death from what they were saying. Managing a smile, she commented with feigned lightness, "Murph, can you come light the stove for me, please?"

It was very quiet as Murph grabbed a match and made their breakfast possible. They hadn't really mentioned her previous weekend since that night. As she began spooning batter onto the hot surface, she was perfectly fine with keeping it that way.

TBS TBS

"Be careful at work," Stripes smiled at Murphy and Da from where she was sitting on the counter drying dishes as they pulled on their coats and holsters.

Conn threw a handful of soap suds toward his brother, "Aye, don't get yerselves killed."

Da merely nodded to them both from the door, as Murph smacked Conn in the back of the head before kissing Stripes on the temple, "See ya later, Stripes. Bye, little brother."

"Up yours, Murph!" Conn called back with a grin.

As the door shut behind them, Stripes stared at it with a worry that grew in strength every time they left the sanctuary of her home. She and Conn finished the dishes in comfortable silence. When done, she jumped down and announced, "All righty, we get to go on our own adventure now."

With an air of suspicion, he frowned, "Where?"

"I'm overdue at the hospital. I was supposed to go back on Wednesday to get everything checked on, but I didn't want to go. I don't really have an excuse not to go today." Smirking, she asked, "Do you wanna be my overprotective boyfriend for the day?"

"Aye, I can do that." He returned her grin before grabbing her around the waist and carting her over to her bed, ignoring her surprised screech.

Laughing, she commented, "Conn, for being as injured as we are, we are too fuckin' chipper."

"We're McManuses, we bounce back fast. Now get yer ass in gear. I hate hospitals."

"Since when do you get to talk about my ass, Connor McManus?" She looked down at him with an eyebrow sassily raised and her good arm resting on her hip.

"Well, today's Friday so…since two minutes ago when I became yer overprotective boyfriend." He stepped closer and grabbed her around the waist to help her down, making her screech again. Without letting her go he asked with a smirk, "That good enough for ye?"

Feeling literally every part of her warm up as he stared at her, smirk still firmly in place, she nodded, "Aye."

Not knowing how long they'd just stared at each other, a honking car outside jolted Stripes back into embarrassment. Despite blushing profusely, she just smiled before stepping back and grabbing some clean clothes and disappearing into the bathroom.

After just staring at the closed door in a way that would've elicited some intense mockery from Murphy, he reached under her bed and grabbed out his 9 mils. The two pistols felt natural in his hands, like he'd had them his entire life. He needed to thank his Uncle Siebel for the very thorough lessons he'd given them as teenagers whenever they got back home.

He had them hidden beneath his pea coat by the time Stripes came out of the bathroom. She looked at him oddly for a moment, like she was trying to figure out what he was hiding. He smirked, she didn't give herself much credit when it came to people but she was damn good at finding out what you didn't necessarily want her to. Her eyes landed on his sides where his weapons were lurking for a second before she grabbed her bag. Smiling, she promised, "We'll be done fast. Plus, we can stop at every bar we come to on the way back. I need a new job."

Before he could get the protest completely out of his mouth as they stepped into the elevator, she held up her good hand, "Conn, I promise I'm not going to run out of money because you guys are here."

To be perfectly honest, the reason she hadn't gone back to the hospital was because she had no health insurance. Unfortunately, she didn't know how long stitches were supposed to stay in. She still had a few hundred bucks that would be harshly depleted when rent came due. However, under pain of death of her pride, she wasn't about to tell them that they were quite literally eating and drinking her out of house and home.

Stripes pushed on, hoping he wouldn't recognize the lie, "I'll only run out of money when tuition comes due, not because of you. Plus, once I'm better I need a social life again. I already say ye too fuckin' much."

She wasn't quite sure if he bought it or not because even as they turned into the alley, his eyes remained trained on her. She only relaxed inside when he slung a careful arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer than Murph or Da would have. "Can't your family help you? Our Ma isn't rich but she sent us some money every month when we first got here. Help is what family is for. I mean, aren't they proud of ye for how smart ye are? I mean, ye've only spoken to us for the last week and we're all proud of ye. I swear Da wishes ye were his own kid."

A bitter, more than slightly sarcastic breath forced its way past her lips as they turned onto the sidewalk, passing a gray car she'd never noticed before. "I know you guys are and it really, truly makes me feel more loved than you can know. But, money is the reason my family hates me. They're anything but proud, I'll guarantee you that."

"What happened with them?" he pressed. The pain she felt was clear enough, but he had to know. There was no way she had grown up in South Boston. There just wasn't. South Boston didn't produce mute women like Stripes who didn't know how to mix drinks. He wasn't going to complain because her life had led her to McGinty's and to them, but he had to know.

Sighing heavily, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked, "I'll tell you later, Conn."

Kissing the top of her head, he nodded, "Aye, I'll hold you to it, Stripes. Why don't ye like talkin' about it?"

She decided to tell the truth from where she still leaned against him, "I'm scared of what you'll think of me after I tell you."

TBS TBS

Just like with guns, repeated exposure was not making Stripes like hospitals any more. She and Conn walked into the one closest to her apartment where she'd been taken the previous weekend. Stripes kept her eyes determinedly before her, trying not to look at much, but Conn's wandered to behind them. A car pulled up to the curb but no one got out as they went through the glass doors. He frowned, instinct making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He readjusted his coat slightly to give his hands something to do besides reach for his guns before putting his arm around Stripes again.

She smiled stiffly up at him before explaining to the nurse why she was there amongst the din of the crowded lobby.

The older, harried looking woman led the two of them to a room. "I'll get your doctor around here in a few minutes. Your husband is welcome to stay." She had closed the door before either could correct her. They glanced at each other, and he couldn't help but break into a grin. Stripes looked embarrassed for a moment before starting to giggle.

"You got upgraded, Conn."

Both were still smiling about the nurse's assumption when a doctor Stripes recognized vaguely from the week prior walked in. He gave her a friendly, doctor appropriate smile as he glanced at a folder in his hands and took in the yellowing appearance of her bruises. "Hello again, Miss Sandler. If you'll remember I'm Dr. Armanda. How have you been for the last week?"

Stripes couldn't help but internally roll her eyes at his question. How did he think she'd been? She hurt! Shrugging, she said simply with a timidity Conn almost didn't recognize anymore, "Fine. Sore, but fine."

Nodding without looking at her, he continued, "That's good. Expected and good. Let's take a look at all these stitches and wounds of yours, shall we?"

Stripes didn't get the groan of pain bit back fast enough when he not as gently as she expected grabbed her sling and began pressing around on her shoulder. Cringing inwardly, Conn scooted forward and subtly grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers. Dr. Armanda glanced up at the two of them briefly after a moment of tense silence, "This is going to take a while, I expect. Talk by all means."

As Stripes sucked in another pained breath as he pushed back her shirt sleeve, Connor was at a loss as to what to talk about. He really hated seeing Stripes in pain. It always caught him off guard. There was something so unnatural about her being harmed that it left him blank except for an urge to help or kill something. Her voice was quiet from strain when she begged the first request that came to mind, "Conn, tell me about Ireland. What's Ireland like?"

Smiling, he queried, "What do ye wanna know about it?"

She managed to smile back, finding a place to ground herself in the grey eyes before her, "Everything."

Squeezing her hand once, Conn took a moment to decide where to begin before diving in head first. He told her about their Ma, their house, their adventures in Dublin, their favorite bar The Anvil, their many escapades everywhere else in Ireland. He told her about home.

Nearly two hours later, he was in the middle of explaining his Ma's last St. Patty's Day prank—that had somehow ended in he and Murphy being naked in the middle of the Anvil—when they weren't separated by an ocean when Dr. Armanda cleared his throat, "Well, aside from too much exertion on that shoulder, everything looks to be doing fine. I took the stitches out, so go easy on it. There are no signs of infection. I'm particularly happy with how your neck is healing. Whatever you've been doing to keep it clean, it did wonderful things. I put on a new adhesive. This one will wear off over the next few weeks. You can leave it alone now. Other than taking it easy, I believe you're set. How are your pain pills holding up?"

"Oh, don't worry, I've got plenty. Can I go home now?" Conn was immediately reminded of a small child at the pleading in her tone. Apparently he wasn't the only one that hated hospitals these days.

Collecting his things, Armanda nodded before stepping out, "Yes, of course. Just check out with the nurse at the desk in case she has paperwork for you."

Smirking as she glared at the doctor's retreating form, Conn pressed a kiss to her temple and squeezed her hand, "It's not his fault, Stripes."

Look still stormy, she bit out, "Aye, but he didn't have to do all that fuckin' pressing and prodding!"

Grabbing her around the waist with his better side, Conn just shook his head with a small smile. She really had been around them too much. "Come on, go do yer stuff so we can go home. I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Meet you in the lobby?"

"Fine," she smiled back at him, mood brightening quickly as they made their way toward the nurse's station. Conn gave her another smirk before breaking off and heading down the hallway with a restroom sign. The nurse had nothing to say to her but a preoccupied "that's nice" and "good-bye" before going back to her constantly ringing telephone. Smiling to herself as she pulled her coat more tightly around her, preparing for the walk home, Stripes shouldered her bag and strode towards the lobby.

She wasn't even halfway there when a sharp jerk on her left arm caused a pained screech to rip from her throat just before a door slammed it off from the rest of the world. Before she could think or react, a cold pressure settled on her forehead. Her tearing eyes widened as they discovered the gun pressed to her skin. Her gaze travelled from it to a steady, emotionless hand. There was no Latin on this one. As her stomach churned, realizing what situation she was in again, she prayed that a gun being held by a Latin tattooed hand wasn't far behind her.

Her eyes landed upon the face, a wave of cigar breath assaulted her senses. She didn't mind Da's cigars; she was used to them plus he didn't smoke inside. This one was mingled with salami from the smell of it, however. Coughing violently, she stiffened as the gun was cocked. A grin that was missing a tooth stared back at her. The man attached to it had dark, slicked hair and an instantly recognizable accent.

"Hello, Miss Sandler. I'm Nicky and I bring greetings from Papa Joe."

The first remark that popped into her head slipped out before she could stop it, "You know Italian women are really unoriginal with their names. Nicky? Frankie?" After she said it, she trembled, terror taking a firm grasp of her sarcasm and throwing it far, far away.

Eyes narrowing, he took a menacing step closer, "I knew Frankie, bitch. I'm gonna finish what he started, I guarantee you that." The Italian brought his gun down and pressed it painfully into her side, hiding it under her coat after he forced her to remove the garment. Then, he nodded toward the door to the closet they were in. "Let's go. Don't make a sound. We're taking a trip outside."

Shaking in all too familiar fear, Stripes took a steadying breath. She really was getting sick in a way of all these near death experiences she was having at the hands of the Italian mob. Why couldn't she be like a normal person and have a nice Friday with the guy she had a crush on?

The crowded ER buzzed around them, paying no mind to a fearful-looking woman and a man with a creepy but easy smile. She had a sling. She'd had her turn. No one stopped them as he hissed directions to her as they made it across the crowded white room.

Fear now the useful tool she'd honed it to, Stripes' gaze flitted about the space, searching for one thing and one thing only. They were almost to the door when she pulled her arm from her sling and rammed a cart filled with hospital miscellany back into Nicky. He let out a yell when she looked toward the bathrooms and yelled before sprinting out the doors.

"CONN!"

Conn stepped out of the restroom into the chaos of the emergency room, glancing around for Stripes when he heard her. He stopped, frozen in his tracks, when her green-eyed stare found him for a split second. The fear there was unmistakable. He'd seen it before. She was out the door before he could take a step toward her.

The mobster she'd knocked to the ground gave a primal yell of anger before running after her, gun in plain sight. Sending a quick but resolute prayer up to God, Conn squeezed the rosary around his neck once before unbuttoning his coat and quickly striding through the crowd, ignoring the stares of the now silent room. As soon as he was out of the doors, he broke into a run.

Stripes looked about her hurriedly as she ran down the deserted alleyway, Nicky's panting right behind her, only to find it a dead end. Skidding to a stop, she dug about in the trash piles, searching for anything she could hurt him with. She wished she had her library back. There was nothing amongst the trash before a painful jolt on her shoulder brought her to a twisted heap on the ground, her hand closing around whatever was closest.

Nicky's face was turned up into a joyous smile disturbingly like his employer's as he nodded toward the pavement, "Up on your knees, Sandler. We'll make this nice and pretty for the evening news. I was supposed to have fun with ya, but you kinda shot that in the face by screaming back there. That's okay; bullets to both knees will make up for it. Nobody fucks with Papa Joe and gets away with it."

"Tell him he can go to hell. I have a few friends who'll be happy to send him there!" She threw the wet clump of rotting French fries in her hand into his face, scrambling away before they even hit.

She just had to buy time. Conn would save her.

She screamed as Nicky pulled the trigger in surprise, a hand immediately going to his face to get the gunk out of his eyes. She pulled herself as far away as she could before he went at her again, and landed a hard kick to her chest. Wheezing against the pain of, with her luck, a fractured rib, she trembled from her back as she looked up.

Nicky's grin filled her vision as he hit her brutally across the cheek with his pistol. She didn't have the time to let fear overtake her before she stared up into the barrel of the gun again. A black, lightheaded abyss took up her sight for a few seconds, Nicky's laugh and the click of the pin against the bullet echoing in her mind. She tried feeling around on the ground for something, _anything, _to use against him again. Maybe she could be lucky just for long enough…

"Hey, asshole, get the fuckin' hell away from her!"

Nicky gave a surprised noise before Stripes heard the muffled bullets and felt the warm spatter of liquid on her face. There was a loud but dull thump of body hitting cement beside her. Closing her eyes for a moment, trying to get herself and her pain under control, Stripes laid there without looking at her dead attacker.

Two hands on either side of her face made her open her eyes to two very concerned, terrified grey ones hovering over her. Conn was knelt down beside her, guns already holstered, pushing hair from her face.

"Stripes…?" He breathed out her name in a whisper; unable to find the words he wanted more than just saying it over and over to let himself know she was still alive and mostly unharmed. His heart had stopped in the moment he heard the gun fire right before he got to the alley. He _couldn't_ let Stripes die.

Her eyes blinked open, the action shaking as much as the rest of her. She let out a relieved sigh before wrapping her good arm around his neck. Hiccupping out a sob into his neck, she hid from the world for just a moment.

Pulling away, sniffing back her tears, she asked, "Boyfriend, can we go home?"

Nodding with a relieved smile, Connor pulled her into another fierce hug, "Aye. I just have to do something first." Without needing to ask, she opened her bag and reached in, searching until she found two copper coins. Look of watery determination on her face, she held up the two pennies.

"Here," she said quietly as she pushed herself up, grabbed her coat back, and walked toward the end of the alley, wiping the blood from her face as she went.


	12. Friday Pt 2

"Stripes, ye really have to stop getting' hurt every time ye go outside."

She smiled up at Conn where he was wiping disinfectant on a brand new cut above her eye, "The same to you, Saint Connor."

A few hours and a friendly face had eased her terror, allowing smiles again. They'd returned to her apartment where she'd immediately changed into polar bear pajamas and he'd hidden his guns. She was silent for a long time as she huddled against Connor's chest until she felt better. Along the way, Smecker had been called, informed, and the door had locked her away from the entire world except for Conn.

He grinned at her before working in a comfortable silence, punctuated now and then by her grumbling "ouch." He just sent her a look every time that made her smile until he got to her rib. As he rolled up her shirt to get a good look at the nastily bruised injury, she sighed, staring up at the ceiling from where she lay on her kitchen table.

"Conn, can you promise me something?"

He glanced up at her, catching the insecurity in her tone, "Aye."

"After I tell you this story, you won't hate me."

Grinning the gentle but slightly ornery smile that never failed to make her smile back, Conn leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, "I will never have the emotional capacity to hate ye, Stripes. I love ye too much."

Catching her unintentionally hitching breath, she smiled at him as he went back to her sore rib. Looking up to the ceiling tiles, she gathered her thoughts for a moment before stating quietly, "My family hates me because I stole thirty thousand dollars from them."

She didn't need to glance down to see the look of pure shock Connor was sending her. Rubbing a hand over her face, she continued with closed eyes, "My parents own three restaurants here in Boston. I worked there since I turned fourteen. That's why I can cook. The whole family works for them: aunts, uncles, cousins, everybody. My parents…they're both entrepreneurs and they love what they do. The money they make is the most important thing in the world to them. It's kind of backwards. They love the family but making money for the family is more important than being with the family. As their only child, I was supposed to take over the business. I never found the right way to convince them I didn't want it.'

"I got some scholarships for college, but since they're so well off, I didn't qualify for many. It wasn't much. With the stipulation that I become a business major, they paid for my tuition and most of my fees. I lived at home and worked in the restaurants to pay for anything they didn't cover. Still, they paid about ten thousand dollars a year in total. They could afford that and much more, but…I wasn't a business major. I've always known what I wanted to do. Ever since I got over my ballerina phase at age eight, I knew I wanted to teach history. I declared as a history major and just….didn't tell them…"

Bruised rib now forgotten, Conn sat on the table beside her and picked up where she left off, "But they found out yer junior year."

Keeping her eyes firmly closed so she could pretend she hadn't started crying, Stripes nodded, "Aye. I'd sent a paper to a conference that spring semester. The conference people sent me a letter about something and my parents got to it before I did. I got home from work that night to find my dad so angry he was purple and my mom standing by the stairs with my suitcases at her feet. After they yelled at me for about a half hour, they shoved my bags at me and said I was dead to them. They never wanted to see me again."

She didn't even try to fight back the sob that burst out when Conn comfortingly squeezed her hand. "I took the scholarship money I had saved and this was the cheapest apartment I could find. I got a job as a cook in a diner and have been choosing tuition and books over food on a regular basis for the last two years."

Wiping her eyes with her sling, Stripes forcedly smiled when she looked up at Conn's concerned face hovering over her, "I'd always been crazy shy where no one in my family was. My dad is really kind of scary, so men in general scared me. Then, coming down here scared to death, I just kind of stopped talking except at school. I never really had anyone to talk to anyway…"

Conn grinned, "But then ye met us."

Her voice wasn't over a whisper when she nodded, "Yeah and I started to love your ornery selves... So, you now know the sad, pathetic story of Stripes the disappointment as a thief, daughter, and human being." Worry overrode any semblance she had of teasing when she queried, "Are you sure you don't hate me?"

Once again leaning down and pressing his forehead to hers, Conn sighed, "Stripes, ye are one of the best people I know and ye deserve to do whatever makes ye happy. I don't fuckin' care about any money; yer family isn't yer family if they don't love ye for who ye are. They didn't and that's why God gave ye to us. Besides," without any instruction from him, his hand came up to hold her newly bruised cheek, "I don't know how I could ever not love ye, Stripes. Ye're perfect."

Stripes' relieved and adorably bashful smile only grew as he didn't move away and her green eyes found nothing but sincerity staring back down at her. Whatever barrier Conn possessed that separated his head and heart and kept the former in charge shattered suddenly.

Without thinking, he closed the last few centimeters between then and softly kissed her.

As soon as he realized what he was doing, he immediately pulled back. "Fuck!"

He didn't think he'd meant to do that. It took him a few agonizing moments to realize Stripes' look of complete surprise had morphed into a delighted grin. She laughed as his face transformed from worry to confusion to happiness all the course of a few seconds. Sharing in her laughter, Conn pressed their foreheads together again as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "Does this mean I'm yer favorite twin, Stripes."

Giggling, she nodded, "Aye, even if you're not older."

"I promise ye I am." Stripes laughed again as he kissed her playfully for a moment. Realizing something, he suddenly pulled away.  
>"Ye know, our Ma taught us to never kiss a girl without knowing her name," Conn smirked with triumph as Stripes continued to blush.<p>

"Make an exception for me."

She leaned up and kissed him before he had time to answer, surprising the smile off his face for a second. Neither his head nor heart complained as he continued to kiss her, his arm wrapping around her waist beneath her shirt and his other hand losing itself in her hair. As a contented sigh came from her throat and her arms tightened around him, Conn decided he liked not thinking about things…

TBS TBS

Murphy yawned as he and Da pushed the door to Stripes' elevator up together. First, he'd been woken up obscenely early by that fuckin' phone. Then, he and Da had had a very busy day, although about half a dozen Italian mobsters, an abusive pimp, and about ten Russian mafia men were never going to be busy ever again thanks to them. Finally, he'd had to sit through a very long bus ride back to South Boston.

All in all, even though it was only six at night, Murphy was ready to have supper, a beer, and call it a night.

"What do ye suppose they've been up to, Murph?"

He looked over to see his ornery grin mirrored on his father's face. While she'd been annoyed, Stripes had been right on the mark in accusing them of making her and Conn into their new hobby. Smirking and grinning behind their backs was a nice pastime. It was a little vacation away from killing evil people. Plus, he thought that Stripes was good for his twin. She was a beautiful, hilarious ball of altruistic contradictions.

"Do ye suppose we really wanna know?" he replied with a smile that clearly said he did.

Da laughed as he stepped forward and unlocked her door. There was a suspicious scuffling from within that ended as soon as he began to push on the doorknob. Murph took his hand from inside his jacket from where he'd instinctively gone for his gun when he saw an innocent appearing Conn and Stripes lying on her bed. He had one of her many books in his hand and she was leaned against his chest, her laptop upon her legs.

Eyes narrowing at the scene, he stayed silent as he walked in, throwing his coat at Conn's face. Those two sat that close a lot but there was just something…different.

"Hi, Murph," Conn greeted with annoyance as Stripes laughed. It was as Conn hurled the coat back at him that Murphy noticed. A grin split his face as he caught the coat with one hand. Reading, their Ma's fuckin' foot! Conn's book was upside down. What had all that scuffling meant…? He laughed as he slipped his shoulder holsters off and set the weapons on the table. Noticing as well, Da joined him.

Stripes looked at them oddly, closing her computer and turning to study them, "Have you two been drinking?"

"No, lass. Coming home to ye just makes us giddy." Da's words made Murph laugh harder as he sat down to clean his pistols.

Stripes turned to Conn, clearly confused, "Why do I feel like I'm missing something?"

"Because they're both fuckin' insane," was Conn's amused answer as he put the book down and got up, grabbing his guns from under her bed and joining them at the table.

"So, Ma," Murphy asked, "what's for supper?"

Coming over and smacking him gently on the back of the head, Stripes chuckled, "Whatever you fuckin' make, Murph. I've had a hectic day. I'm tired."

Murph waited until she'd gotten her glass of water, sat down in Conn's lap, and took a drink before he commented nonchalantly, "Aye, I'm sure makin' out with my twin is tiring."

He felt guilty for a split second when she coughed so violently, Conn had to grab her around the waist to keep her from falling down. "Ow!" He shouted as Conn promptly kicked him viciously in the shin under the table.

Blushing bright red but with a smile, she coughed out when she could breathe again, "I fuckin' hate you, Murphy. You did that on purpose."

He grinned back at her, "Ye're fuckin' right I did."

Surprising the three of them, she just laughed and leaned back against Conn's shoulder, not hiding from their accusations at all. A week ago, she would've frozen in blushing mortification at having Murph flirt jokingly with her for her name. Now, after being called out about Connor, she was noticeably pink but seemed far too happy to be embarrassed.

"Conn, I think God gave me Murphy to test me." Da and Murph looked at him with bewilderment as Conn burst out laughing. He pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek before resituating them so he could continue cleaning his weapons.

"This better not mean that I have to sleep on the fuckin' floor. I'm not dealing with any awkward shit in the middle of the night." He laughed at the look on Stripes face. "Ow! For fuck's sake would everybody stop fuckin' kicking me?"

Stripes didn't answer, merely smiled. After she shook her hair from her face, the light hit her more clearly as she leaned her head back on Conn's shoulder.

"Lass, what happened to your face?" There was an element of such a deep concern in Da's voice that Murph immediately looked up, pout gone. Now that Da mentioned it, Murphy noticed the brand new bruise on her cheek and the cut above her right eye. Those were new…

"Oh, somebody tried to kill me again, today. We already called Smecker about it. Don't worry."

"WHAT?" Murphy was on his feet and Da was failingly trying to get him to sit back down as soon as she'd said it. He'd grudgingly sat back down when he demanded, "Who the fuck was it this time? Did they fuckin' hurt ye? They're fuckin' dead now, right?"

Conn answered his brother with a twin look that clearly stated the answer to the last question. Letting out a sigh, Murphy leaned farther back in his chair. His brother answered with words a moment later, "It was an Italian guy, one of Papa Joe's. He grabbed her in the hospital when I was in the fuckin' bathroom. Smecker said Papa Joe had probably put guys in all the hospitals around that warehouse, knowing she'd have to come back eventually. He's sure they don't know where she lives. The bastard gave her a bruised rib but that was it by the time I got there."

Covering up the amount fear that remained with a smug smile, Stripes added as she rested her head in the crook of Conn's neck, "I threw rotting fast food at his face and kicked him in the balls."

Scaling back his anger, Murph snorted, "That's becoming a thing with ye, Stripes."

"If it isn't broken, don't fix it," she said simply.

A light if still slightly charged silence fell as the three men maintained the tools of their new trade. Stripes stayed in the new position she claimed for herself, half watching and half dozing. She genuinely was tired. The morning and early afternoon had put her on an adrenaline rush that was now crashing hard. And, of course, Murphy was right, too…

If she got absolutely nothing else from her relationship with the McManuses, she was going to genuinely believe for the rest of her life that something good came out of everything bad. Doubts tended to hide that truth quite often, but as she sat there in Connor's arms surrounded by three amazing human beings who loved her like family, she couldn't deny it. Her parents had disowned her: she'd moved to the south side. The diner she'd worked at closed: she got a job at McGinty's and met them. She'd been attacked by a Russian guy: she'd gotten up the gumption to talk to Connor and Murphy. She'd walked home in the cold: she'd been able to help save Murphy's life. The list went on and on, the most recent being she'd been attacked by an Italian guy and told Conn the unpleasant truth of her past: she'd spent a positively wonderful portion of the afternoon kissing him because he liked her anyway.

She didn't care if she was sore and things weren't exactly how she'd envisioned them once upon a time in high school. She didn't care because she was happy for the first time in a very long time.

Except for an occasional request for someone to pass something, the four were quiet. Each lost in their own thoughts in the familial company they had. All four, even Da, jumped when Stripes' phone suddenly rang. Sighing at losing her comfy place, Stripes rose and walked over and grabbed the offending technology. Bringing the receiver to her ear, she asked, "Hello?"

It took her a moment to realize it was Smecker on the phone. Talking quickly and in a low voice, he made do with having her relay what he needed to Da. "_Thanks. Tell Noah I'll call him again tomorrow night. I have to go now. I'm at a crime scene. I'll see you soon."_

"Bye Smecker," she responded vaguely, collecting herself as all he'd told her sunk in. She stared out the window at what little of the sunset she could still see above the skyline, blinking back tears. Clearing her throat, she turned around again to see the three staring at her with curiosity. Forcing a smile on her face, she asked, "So, who wants to teach me to shoot tomorrow?"

She saw the comprehension on Da's face first before a sad expression of guilt took its place. He gave her a slight nod, indicating he understood, before rising and grabbing three cans of beer. Apologizing quietly, he took out his lighter and lit his cigar, taking a long inhale.

He hadn't wanted it to happen this soon…

The twins looked between their father and Stripes for a few moments before looking at each other. Conn finally asked, "Why?"

Voice noticeably shaky, she explained as she curled back up in his lap, "Because you're leaving at eight Sunday morning. The Russians have been acting up after all of Papa Joe's troubles. Smecker said they've called in big players from the old country. They'll get here by next week if Smecker can't intercept them, which he said he probably can't. He checked into things for Da and they have your names from the article after Chekov. There are Russian mobsters all over the city whose one job is to find you and put a bullet in your heads." Choking back a gut-wrenching sob, Stripes finished, "If you don't leave, you'll die."

For a very long moment, everything was very quiet.

Unsuccessfully blinking back tears, she rose from her place and went to a cupboard above her fridge. She scaled the counter with minimal trouble and tore open the cupboard door. She grabbed a large bottle of dark liquor Doc had given her as a going-away present and brought it back to the table after grabbing herself a juice glass. Unscrewing the cap, she filled a good portion of the glass and took a large sip before sitting back down and curling into herself.

Without a word or a glance at Da and Murph, Conn grabbed a gentle hold of her chin and kissed her profoundly on the mouth, dying a little bit inside when he felt the tears running down her cheeks as she kissed him back. He pressed one to her forehead when she began to shake with held-in tears after he pulled away. Ignoring the one gun that hadn't been cleaned, he tightly wrapped both arms around her.

Watching everything before him in dazed silence, Murphy finally found his voice, "What'd you fuckin' mean we're leaving? We can't leave ye alone, Stripes! Da, what the fuck is Smecker talking about?"

She gently pushed her glass of bourbon across the table to him. "If you don't leave then you're all going to be murdered, Murph. The Italians don't know where I live. They're more after me than you. I'm the only one whose name they know and whose face wasn't covered in blood when they saw it. Papa Joe is the only one who saw you. I'm a better lead. But the Russians are out for you. They don't even know I exist. Papa Joe is just sending a few people after me. The Russians are sending dozens after you. I know you're all really good, but…"

The rest of the bourbon was gone in one large shot before Murph began pouring himself another. "But we can't leave ye! Conn, fuckin' help me the fuck out here. We can't just leave. We can't let another person fuckin' die because they helped us. Stripes is not going to fuckin' turn into another Rocco! I'm not gonna let it fuckin' happen." He slammed the again empty glass onto the table so hard a chip of the bottom broke off.

Conn stayed uncharacteristically silent for being confronted with his twin's anger. Pulling her more tightly to him, he buried his face in Stripes' hair. She began running her hand gently up and down his good side, the constancy making her feel better. She knew why he was quiet. He knew why they had to go and couldn't argue with it, but he really didn't want to.

"Lad," Da began softly, clearly not any happier than Murphy about things, "Smecker is going to have to look after her. If we stay and those fuckin' Russians find us, then she'll end up dead, too. We have to leave until some of the heat dies down…"

"But what if they fuckin' find her while we're gone? What then?"

"Then I kick them in the balls and pray everything works out, Murph." He made to protest but she cut him tearfully off, "Murph, there's a lot more people in the world that love and need you than love and need me. I can't let you die because you're trying to protect me. I'm just a shy little history major who probably won't do anything the world will remember. You guys have more people to save than me..."

"We'll remember ye, Stripes," he protested fiercely.

"Murphy, I'm not letting you die because of me! ...I love you too much."

Sighing heavily, Murphy reached into his pocket and tapped two cigarettes into his hand. Lighting both, he passed one over the table to his twin. Both took a deep inhale of nicotine. Holding his head up with a hand, Murphy said what they were all thinking.

"Fuck."


	13. Make the Most of It Pt1

Why hello there everyone still with me. So, I admit that I am a horrible person and beg forgiveness for how long it's taken on this. It's been a hell of a start to the semester. (18 credit hours with three upper level history courses do not leave decent time for writing.) Therefore, updates are probably going to be closer to once a month. I'm going to push and prod myself to do so. (It's been digitally chronicled; I will hold myself to it!) On that note, thanks 85 for prodding me about getting something done.

To be perfectly honest, I don't think this half of a chapter came out exactly how I wanted it, so I'll probably be revising once I get more down, but I felt I needed to get something up. Hit me with as much constructive criticism as you can manage, please. I'm in that middle-stretch of a story where things kinda slow down on you and you need a kick to get things going again. On that note, here's another bit of story. As always, thanks for reading and sticking with me! :)

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><p>For the first time in a week, Stripes didn't make a point to make sure she was up and out of bed before the two men she shared it with. She didn't open her eyes to catch an adorably sleeping Conn or connive some ornery way to wake up Murph.<p>

She didn't want to wake up and find out that the last twelve hours were real. As she felt the warmth wrapped around her, she just prayed with all her might that she'd fallen asleep on the bed with Conn. Murphy and Da weren't even home yet. The horrible news that they were leaving was simply a horrible dream and she could bask in the happiness that Connor loved her as something definitely not a sister…

But, Stripes couldn't pretend forever and even as she repeated it over and over, mingled with the Hail Mary, she knew it was one prayer God wouldn't be answering.

Ignoring the sunlight shining at her and the sounds of at least one person moving around in the kitchen, she refused to bring her head out of the warm, dark place beneath the blankets. She retightened her arm around Conn after pulling the blanket up more to cover her face where it rested on his bare chest as Murphy began jumping on the bed. Groaning she demanded, "Murph, cut it out!"

"Ma, get up! Ma, get up!" he cried as she groaned again and Conn began laughing.

"Murphy, be a good boy and watch cartoons."

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

The complete absurdity that a man not only older than her but whose job was to kill evil men was now jumping on her bed and screaming at her to wake up was not lost upon Stripes. However, that was why she loved Murphy as much as she did.

Grumbling, Stripes grabbed the pillow Murphy had previously been sleeping on and hurled it in his direction when all his bouncing forced her to emerge. It hit him in the square in the face. Laughing, Murph teased, "Ye know I'm not the twin ye're supposed to be having early morning pillow fights with."

Before she could shout whatever embarrassed comment she had in mind, he threw the pillow back at her and pulled her to her feet. As soon as she was up, he hopped down and pulled her down over his shoulder. They were halfway to the door when before she regained the presence of mind to exclaim, "Ow! Murph, I'm injured! Everywhere!"

Sighing dejectedly, he set her down. Fixing her with a stare so mockingly serious, she began laughing, he reprimanded, "Ye really do need to stop getting yerself hurt, Stripes. Now, go get dressed. We're going on a field trip."

"Huh? I was kidding last night."

"We're not. So, we're going out! Get yer ass movin'!"

Glaring with annoyance between the two of them as she grabbed some clothes, she accused, "You guys really need to stop talking about my ass, ye know."

Running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, Conn chuckled as he plopped down into a chair, "Hey, I'm allowed, Stripes. I'm the favorite twin."

Seemingly ignoring Murphy's aghast, "What the fuckin' hell? Why is he the favorite," Stripes nodded, "You make a good point. Murphy, be a good boy and stop talking about my ass. Conn's allowed, you're not." Before Murphy could form words, she disappeared into the bathroom, cutting off any retort he could've made with a firmly shut door.

Merely shaking his head, Da grabbed his cup of coffee and sat down as Murph did. "So ye know where ye're takin' her?"

Murph nodded, "Aye. There's a building by the packing plant we can use. Ye sure ye don't wanna come, Conn?"

Smile gone as soon as the door had closed, Conn only nodded, "Aye. I'm sure." He didn't say a word more as he took a bite of cereal. Murph didn't push the issue, instead just taking a bite of his own food.

TBS TBS

"Murph, where are we going?"

The dark-haired McManus smirked over at Stripes as they walked along the water, "To work." Freezing in place, she suspiciously frowned at him. Rolling his eyes, he began pushing her along with both hands, "We're going to the meat packing plant. There's an empty storage building that Sid will let us use if we ask. He's never questioned us before."

Sighing though not fighting against him, she objected, "Murph, you really don't have to do this. I'm sure I'll be fine. What good is a gun going to do me? I'll end up shooting myself in the foot instead."

Murphy was taking no arguments, however. A serious side of him that she knew few rarely truly saw came out as he stopped and swung her around to look at him. Waiting until she met his gaze, he stated, "Stripes, there is no way in hell that we are leaving ye alone without something to protect yourself. I'm gonna fuckin' teach you so your feet will be safe. If we didn't teach ye, I'd never get anything done because I'd always be worrying about ye. Don't even get me started on how Conn would be…"

Coming up with nothing whatsoever to say because she was simply too caught between being worried about them and touched by their concern, Stripes gave a small smile, "Fine, Murph. You win."

"About fuckin' time, too!" he declared, back to his normal sense of humor. Despite her darkening mood, she had to laugh. Linking their arms in an old-fashioned gentlemanly way, he led her further along the water, the smell of raw meat beginning to permeate all.

Murphy was welcomed back by his old coworkers with cheers that made McGinty's sound like a nice, quiet place to sit and have some tea. He finally pushed their way through the crowd to where Sid was standing with a grin, "Where the hell you been, Murph? Where's Conn? Ye two bastards didn't give me any two fuckin' weeks' notice." Noticing her trailing after Murph, he nodded toward Stripes, "Hey there, Stripes." She returned the nod of greeting.

Laughing, Murph gave the man a one-armed hug after shaking his hand, "Sorry, Sid. Some things came up. We haven't had much of a chance to catch our breath. So, I've got a favor to ask ye. Ye think we could use the old extra build-"

"You're fucking kidding me!"

Silence immediately fell, though a good number of groans interrupted it. Stripes turned with a frown toward the deep, angry female voice. Large knife in hand, standing by the door to the freezer stood Rosengurtle Baumgartener.

Dear God, Stripes thought, they hadn't been kidding about her being manly, had they. The woman before her was bigger than her father, and he was an intimidatingly sized guy.

"Oh, fuck…" Sid groaned, dropping his head into his hand. "Rosengurtle, put down the fuckin' knife or I'll fire you."

Though she did as he asked, her glare said she wasn't too happy about it. It appeared she'd decided to make hating the McManuses a particular hobby of hers. Striding over to the group, the giant ogre of a woman crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Murph, "Where's that fucking douche of a brother of yours? I'd like to get another whack at him if I can. We'll see if he disrespects women again…"

Stripes couldn't explain why exactly, but being in the presence of this woman made her blood boil. Was she serious? Conn wasn't even there to defend himself! Not that he'd lay a hand on her anyway. Stupid bitch! Conn was wonderful and sweet and nice and gorgeous and hers. She was not standing for it! God save her, she was going to do something rash…and very Murphy-like.

"Hey, bitch!"

Murphy turned his head so quickly, he was sure he'd broken something it in as he looked at Stripes in shock. His stomach began to churn. The next thirty seconds was either going to be really bad or fucking amazing…

Taking a few steps forward until she was only a few feet from the surprised woman, Stripes smiled innocently up at her and stated, "The rule of thumb was for making beer, not beating wives. It has no historical legal accuracy, whatsoever. Learn your fuckin' history. And never, _ever_ threaten my boyfriend again."

Still smiling, Stripes swiftly kicked the other woman where her balls would've been hard enough that Rosengurtle keeled over onto the floor. There was a moment of dazed silence. Smirking with a smug sort of satisfaction and a disturbing lack of guilt, she turned to Murphy. "Shall we go?"

Quickly grabbing her around the shoulders and hurrying them out before the other woman could come to completely, Murphy waved back to Sid amidst the roars of laughter, "Thanks, Sid!"

Laughing as well, the older man shook his head, "No problem, Murph!" Well, he was gonna have to deal with a very angry worker, but it was fuckin' worth it.

"Where the fuckin' hell did that come from?" Murphy asked with a chuckle as they wound their way amongst the various outbuildings. Never in even his active imagination had he pegged her to do something like that. It was awesome!

Shrugging, she said with forced lightness, "This'll be the longest relationship I've ever had. I might as well make the most of it, you know?"

Not missing a beat, Murph flung the arm not around her out in exasperation, "Fuckin' Christ, why did Conn have to get to ye first? I knew I should've flirted with ye more."

Smirking against her melancholy, she leaned her head against his shoulder, knowing he was trying to make her feel better. "If things don't work out, I'll give you a call when we're in the same town again…"

By then, they'd come to a stop in front of one of the buildings and Murph was jiggling the lock in a way that said he'd broken into it before. "I'm guessing you're going to teach me to hurt myself now?" she tried to joke.

Murph gave her a dry smirk, "Ye're not going to hurt yerself. That's the point of teaching ye. Come on."

She followed him inside to see dust floating about in the previously undisturbed air. She wasn't sure what the building had been for originally, but it hadn't served a purpose in a long time. Stripes froze in her inspection of the place when she caught sight of the gun in Murphy's hand.

It didn't matter that it was him holding it. Guns still threw her for a loop. Trying to steel herself, she strode toward him. As he began to explain the correct way to hold it, load it, and ensure the safety was on and off, she interrupted, "Murph, why didn't Conn come with us?"

Looking her straight in her green eyes, he stated, "Because he's too guilty that you need to learn. He doesn't want to think about ye being forced to use this thing." Grinning suddenly, he continued, "He's kinda in love with ye, ye know."

Smirking at the look of surprise that always seemed to pop up whenever she was confronted with someone actually caring about her, Murph grabbed the pistol by the silencer and handed it to her, "Now, ye take that ornery ass of yers and shoot at that sign there."

She glared at him, falling back on the easy banter their little group always had, "Murph, I'm holding a gun. For God's sake, _stop_ talking about my ass."


	14. Make the Most of It Pt2

Hello there, everyone. So, I really should have just posted this together with the last chapter, but I'd really wanted to get something up and this wasn't quite done. So, this one starts right up where the last one ended.

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><p><em>She glared at him, falling back on the easy banter their little group always had, "Murph, I'm holding a gun. For God's sake, stop talking about my ass."<em>

"Aye, Ma." He nodded toward the wall opposite them, "Now fuckin' do it. We're not leaving until ye learn so get on it."

"Fine…"

Taking a deep breath, Stripes raised the gun level with her shoulder and primed it, bringing her left hand up to steady it. What she hadn't picked up from movies, she'd gotten a decent idea of by having guns pointed at her… She tried and failed to make those memories go away as she stood there, willing her finger to squeeze like Murphy told her to.

Eyes narrowing, she gave up. What was the point of trying to forget? She was never going to. She might as well use it. Focusing on the helplessness that her terror inflicted, she grasped the gun tighter. She was _not_ helpless.

Ignoring the recoil, Stripes squeezed her finger back on that trigger over and over until the gun no longer had bullets to shoot. Flicking the safety back on, she handed it to an impressed Murphy. "Can we go home now?"

Tentatively, he nodded, "Aye…" That had been surprisingly well-aimed for the amount of shaking she'd just been doing…

Smiling, she rewrapped her scarf as she seemed to read his mind, "Murph, I'm fine. I promise. Stop looking at me like that. You're a good teacher. Now, let's go home," Linking her arm with hers as they left the old building, she grinned, "Let's see if I can get that brother of yours in bed before you guys leave."

She giggled until she couldn't breathe at the traumatized look on his face.

There was no point in being sulky. She had less than twenty-four hours with them and she'd be damned if she'd spend it feeling sorry for herself…That's what all the time they were gone was for.

"So, Murph," she smirked as they walked, "tell me about this Sarah Laughlin you guys mentioned."

Murphy snorted, not at all shy about spilling this particular secret of his brother's to her, "It's a great fuckin' story…"

TBS TBS

"Murph, you're completely fuckin' useless, ye know that?" Stripes laughed from beside him, gently shoving him away from the bowl.

"Stripes, that wounds me!" he cried melodramatically as he fell into a chair at the table. Taking a drink from his beer, he pointed the bottle at Conn, "She's all fuckin' yers, brother. She's too damn cranky for my taste."

"Damn fuckin' right she's all mine," Conn replied, earning himself an exuberant grin from the woman before them.

The Stripes that had returned from her shooting lesson that morning had turned a complete 180 from the one that left. Her good mood was no longer forced. Conn wasn't sure what had brought the change on given the circumstances, but it had been contagious. The easy-going happiness that she'd procured had spread as soon as she walked in the door, turning to Da and saying they were banned from working that day, then walking up, grabbing the back of his neck, a handful of his shirt, and kissing him so deeply he—_he,_ Connor McManus—had begun blushing when she pulled away with a triumphant smirk.

He hadn't had a thing to complain about since.

Throwing the mixing spoon in her hand at Murphy, Stripes laughed before grabbing a clean one from the drawer, "Good, because Murph you're too whiny for me. Besides, I'm not cranky. I've had a very productive day. I made cookies despite your attempts to ruin them. I learned to shoot. I threw a shoe at your head, and I defended Conn's honor. I'm in a wonderful mood!" She paused to continue stirring for a moment before exclaiming, "Oh, and I watched "The Sound of Music" with some highly amusing Irish commentary."

"Fuckin' Christ..." She and Da exchanged smiles at the pained groans that answered that statement. She wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed like some unwritten rule that every man hated that musical. Therefore, it was a testament to how much they loved her that they sat through it, complaining only every other minute or so. She'd found their distaste far too amusing to let it go as she sang and hummed her way through the film.

Plus, it had been a very nice three hours of snuggling up next to Conn as they spouted off quite possibly the most amusing commentary she'd ever heard out of them.

"Oh, you guys liked it and you know it."

Shuddering, Murph glared at his twin, "Ye control yer fuckin' woman over there. I don't know if I can take another one of them movie presentations."

"Come on, Murph, doesn't it just make you want to climb a mountain and spin around for a while? I've got a dress you can wear." Stripes continued to tease him as the two tended to, laughing as she put her newest creation of cookies in the oven. She'd made two batches' worth already.

Despite her laughter, Conn got the vibe that the baking was a coping mechanism. It was clearly still on her mind that they were leaving. In a contradiction that could only come from the being that was Stripes, she was genuinely happy and yet fighting her sadness at the same time.

Sensing a long bout of snarky, sarcastic mocking coming on, Da grabbed a new cigar. On his way to the door he clapped Conn on the shoulder, "Come on, lad. Let's go have a smoke."

"Smoking's bad for you," Stripes threw at them with a smile mid-taunt before going straight back to Murphy.

Chuckling, the two men exited the apartment they'd come to call home and trudged up the stairs into the damp March air. It had started to warm just a bit the past few days. The mornings kept their bite, but the afternoons held the first indications of spring. Despite the mist, Conn didn't mind sitting there in his black t-shirt. Ireland was damp like that.

The thought of home made him think once again about how he was leaving her. For the fuckin' life of him, he couldn't understand why everything made him think of her. He swore he could find a connection by looking at a fuckin' sock or something. Sighing, he took a deep breath of nicotine and let the rush clear his head.

"What's on yer mind, Da?" Conn glanced over as his father sat next to him on the ledge.

Also sighing, a regretful sound that didn't come from the man that often, Da began slowly, "We're doing the right thing, lad." At Conn's half bitter, half devastated snort, he insisted, "I know it doesn't feel like it, but we are. Ye're just gonna get her hurt if ye stay."

"Aye, Da, I know," Conn said with acridity, "but somehow that isn't fuckin' makin' me feel any fuckin' better." Anger rising up from the whole situation, he bit out, "Just because ye can leave doesn't mean I think I can!"

"And I regretted it for every second after, lad," Da said so quietly Conn had to strain to hear him. There was such pure and frank regret on his father's face Conn immediately felt his stomach twist with guilt.

Releasing a long breath of smoke, he sighed, "I'm sorry, Da. I fuckin' sound like Murph, going off on people. I don't know what's fuckin' wrong with me."

Chuckling, Da bit down on his cigar with a smile, "It's because ye're in love with her, Conn. It's an annoying side effect women have. Ye don't think Murph and I have been giggling like fuckin' girls for no reason, did ye?"

Ignoring that last part, Conn sighed, "Ye would think I'd have gotten over it by now. I've loved women before."

Da's tone made Conn look up from the cigarette in his hands he'd been ardently focusing on, "It's because ye can tell when she's different. Ye can feel the difference before yer head can figure it out."

Caught between realizing how right Da was and the oddity of talking about his love life with his father, the younger McManus stayed silent. Giving his son a few good inhales before he got to the real reason he'd brought Conn up there, Da stated with subject-changing merriness, "Aye, so on the subject of our Stripes, I've got something to say."

He waited until Connor met his eyes before going on, an underlying seriousness in the lightness of his tone, "I don't give a fuck if we're leavin' tomorrow, ye are takin' that lass out on a date or I will fuckin' disown ye as a son."

Pushing on despite Conn's bewildered expression, he finished, "I know she won't make a fuss about it, but she's an amazing lass and she deserves it. I'll stay and make sure yer brother doesn't give himself diabetes by eating all her cookies." Gathering his bearings, Conn laughed at that. "Besides, yer Ma ought to have taught ye to take out the lass who ye're in love with."

Smiling as he brought his nearly spent cigarette up for a final drag, Conn nodded, "Aye, she did."

"Come to think of it, she should've taught ye to know her name, too," Da teased.

"Hey, I fuckin' tried! I brought it up and everything and she won't have it. She's so fuckin' stubborn."

Chuckling, Da nodded, "Aye, she is at that surprisingly."

"Ye could just tell me ye know!"

"Aye, I could. But I won't." Glancing out at the city, Da replied, "If she doesn't tell ye by tomorrow, I'll tell ye her name."

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><p>So, there's going to be a date (I'm rather excited)! :D Please, please, please, hit me with any ideas you've got or anything you want to read for their date night. (Straight up fluffiness with dates and such aren't usually my strong point, so I love suggestions.) Drop me a review or PM me with any thoughts you've got! I'm going to be away from my computer for the rest of the week at my first ever history conference, so nothing's going to get done for a bit. However, I'm going to do my very best to get something up within the next two weeks. Thanks so much for reading! :)<p> 


	15. The Date

Whew, I actually got this done! I've got class in ten minutes and then I go home for spring break, which means no internet. When I don't have homework the muse tends to descend, so when I get back in about two weeks, I'm hoping to have lots and lots done. I'm sorry if this isn't quite great, but I really wanted to get something up before my time away.

Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone. It's so great to hear what people think and they really give me a kick in the butt to write more. So, let me know what you think and thanks so much for reading! :D

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><p>Stripes frowned up at Conn where he sat beside her and Murph. He hadn't really spoken since he and Da had come back in from the roof and his silence was beginning to worry her. It had been almost two hours before. He had this look of extreme concentration on his face that Murph hadn't stopped making fun of, but nothing seemed to rouse the lighter-haired brother.<p>

Sending him a final worried look, she crawled carefully over him and asked, "So, what do we want for supper?"

Murph immediately opened his mouth but it was Conn's voice that answered her, "Ye aren't makin' us supper." Before she could ask why, he was up and had grabbed her around the waist, "Stripes, ye and I are going out."

Conn had shepherded her almost to the door, Murphy's snickering loud in the background, before she finally asked with a laugh of her own, "Where are we going?"

"Out." The wide, bright grin on his face made her warm up all over.

"But-but I'm not dressed right." She gestured down to her simple green t-shirt and jeans, both still having a light dusting of flour. She didn't even have shoes on yet.

Snorting loudly, Murphy threw a pillow at her, "Ye look fine. Stripes, ye're such a fuckin' girl."

Grinning, Conn threw the pillow absently in his twin's direction and agreed, "Aye, for once Murph is right. Let's go." At her shy expression, he stole Da's words from earlier, "Ma would kill me if she found out I had a girlfriend I never even took on a date."

He didn't have to go past the word girlfriend before she melted. Smiling up at him without a word, she slipped on some shoes and grabbed her coat before coming to stand before him again.

"Ye two have fun, now. Oh aye, Conn," he glanced over with nonchalance but an evil grin, "watch out. She's got a secret plot to get ye in bed."

"Murph!" Stripes glared at him before slamming the door. As she walked with a snickering Conn to the elevator, she said with as much composure as she could manage with her face the color of a fire hydrant, "I was kidding when I told him that, by the way." Clearing her throat, still ignoring the way he was all but giggling, she asked, "So where _are_ we going?"

Kissing the top of her head, he took her hand as they walked out of the elevator, "I don't fuckin' know. I figured we'd make it up as we go along."

Laughing, she rolled her eyes, "My boyfriend the planner."

Conn raised an eyebrow at her, "Aye, but at least I'm not figuring out ways to trick ye into bed."

She smacked him in the arm, "Shut up!" Wrapping his slightly stinging arm around her shoulders, Conn led them out of the alley onto the sidewalk past the now ever-present gray car. Resting her head on his shoulder, she commented, "Ye still can't have beer."

"Fuck."

Stripes laughed as they continued down the street, for once being something resembling…normal.

TBS TBS

Stripes had decided that she liked normal, at least when normal involved her getting to curl up into Connor's side for the entire duration of a movie in a theatre and him buying her dinner that lasted through three hours of them talking at the quiet end of O'Brien's bar. She especially liked it now when he was smiling at the dazed expression that appeared on her face after every time he kissed her.

Taking her hand, he began walking them down the sidewalk toward her apartment. Before they'd gone a block, however, she squeezed his hand and pulled him down another street. Frowning, he asked, "Stripes, where are we going?"

"This way," came her mischievous reply. "So, tell me about Summerhill again." She knew he was probably downright sick of telling her about their hometown, but she couldn't help it. She loved hearing about where they'd grown up and what their home was like.

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly at her, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head before beginning. "It's fuckin' tiny compared to Boston, but that's what great about it. Our neighborhood was fuckin' hilarious. A bunch of our cousins all live around there. Our Uncle Siebel's got eight kids, so we always had somebody to play with. And our Aunt Siobhan was always at our place to get away from them. She and Ma can drink anybody under the table. We lost fifty bucks to them once. Ma can drink Irish whiskey like it's fuckin' water. She's like a fuckin' Russian with vodka, I swear. The Anvil is great though. Half the town shows up on Friday and Saturday nights. Ye'd love the castle, Stripes. We even had a battle there once upon a time. Yer little history brain would be freaking out if you ever got there."

She smiled up at him and corrected, "_When_ I get there. I can't be an Irish historian who's never been to Ireland. It'd be hypocritical." Stripes paused for a long moment as they continued walking, their destination now not far. "Do you think you and Murph will ever move back?"

Her question seemed to take Conn slightly off guard. His stride slowed for a few steps, as if he hadn't really thought past their leaving the next morning, which was true. He didn't know when it'd happened, but the possibility of dying was always far too real to let him think too far in advance.

What _were_ they going to do when all the mobsters were dead? _Would_ the mobsters ever all be dead? He doubted it, and for the first time since Chekov had attacked them that day and their mission had been given to them, he felt…doubt. Did he really want to be a Saint for the rest of his life? He didn't care about the fact that he'd only known Stripes existed for about two months, looking at her made him think he wanted a little more…a lot more. He'd never leave Murphy or Da and he genuinely wanted to see things through, but he didn't want it to have to last forever.

Sensing the direction his thoughts might have taken, Stripes did nothing to pull him from his ponderings. She figured that it was better he work through things now than when they were somewhere new, once again likely fearing for their lives.

Finally shrugging, Conn looked over at and replied, "I don't know, Stripes."

"Well, maybe you can ask," she suggested with a light lilt to her voice, nodding toward their now near destination. Conn and Murph's church stood before them, still lit up in the dark despite the lateness of the hour. Smiling, Stripes squeezed his hand pulled him toward it, "I figured you'd want to stop in, since you won't have time in the morning. Murph and I came by this morning."

Flustered by her perceptiveness—how did she manage to know him so well? As soon as her question proved difficult, he's wanted to stop here—Conn could only stare at her for a minute. "But-but you don't like church."

She shrugged as she walked through the door he held open for her, "It's not so much that I don't like church as I don't like priests. Me, men, confessing my innermost thoughts about all the ways I've fucked up: yeah, it just didn't work. I come in for my once a year confession, and generally just outline me stealing thousands of dollars from my parents, get about fifty Hail Marys and leave. I get a lot more out of just skipping the middle man and talking to Him myself. It makes me a bad Catholic, but I generally feel okay about my immortal soul and whatnot."

By then, Father Macklepenny had walked up to them in the slow, purposeful stride priests tended to have. Smiling at the two of them, he nodded to them both in greeting, "Connor…" at her severely raised eyebrow, the priest continued cautiously, "…Stripes, good to see you. What can I do for you?"

"Father, what're you doing down here?" Conn queried, Macklepenny had a church uptown, closer to Stripes' college.

Walking before them down the aisle, he replied, "A bishop has come to see the monsignor and apparently he felt…safer being in my church. The monsignor and I have switched for a few weeks. I wondered if I might see you here soon with Murphy coming in this morning."

"Aye, I could do with a confession." Smiling at Stripes for a moment, he pulled out his rosary as he followed Father Macklepenny toward the confessional. She returned the gesture until the two had disappeared from view.

For a long moment, she just stood in the aisle awkwardly, still not quite on firm ground when it came to being in church. She'd just been going to the bridge for the past two years, before that she'd just stayed home. For some reason, her parents had never pressed the issue.

Sighing, she took a long look at the giant crucifix on the altar, and then pulled out a kneeler. Going down to her knees, she rested her forehead on the pew in front of her. She murmured a Hail Mary before taking a deep breath and starting to whisper:

"So, how have You been? It's been a long week since we last talked. I've almost been killed a few times and whatnot, it's kind of becoming my thing, I think. I get the really bad feeling it's not going to get any better, either. I don't know why, but I just feel like they're going to find me eventually. I'm glad Conn and Murph and Da are leaving. I want them to be safe. Just please, _please_, keep them safe. They're the best thing to have happened to me in a long time and they love You more than anyone I've ever met. Please, just keep them safe until they can go home. And…and don't let them think they have to do this forever. I know they believe that You sent them to do it, but don't let them die for it. Conn and Murph deserve so much more than dying on the street somewhere. They deserve to have women who love them and have kids and lives and to get drunk together on St. Patty's Day until they're eighty. Just, please…take care of them for me."

Fighting the tears that had been trying to creep up on her all day, Stripes let out another deep breath before crossing herself and standing. She wasn't about to let those tears out now, not on the first date she'd ever had that felt like it truly mattered. She focused on the light, floaty feeling she got whenever he kissed her, which was gloriously often. The tears had been squashed and a genuine smile had fought its way victoriously to the surface by the time the two men emerged.

TBS TBS

"Do you want to go back in there and deal with Murphy?"

Conn and Stripes stood before her apartment door, looking at it with distaste. Going back in there meant Murphy being…Murphy. And, it meant the night was done. It meant he was leaving in the morning and she was sad. It meant bad things.

"Ye wanna go to the roof?" At the barest hint of a nod from her, Conn grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to the stairs, Stripes giggling the whole way.

"Stripes," Conn began in a whisper about two hours of kissing later.

"Hmm?" came the sleepy reply from his shoulder where he held her.

Caught between grinning evilly and sighing yet again at the fact he was leaving, he kissed her temple and asked, "What's yer name?"

Stripes burrowed her black hair further into his neck, replying, "Chloe."

Conn let that wind through his brain for a few seconds. Chloe… He liked Chloe on her. Aye, Chloe.

Her sleepy groan pulled him from his thoughts, "Don't tell Murphy though. He's not supposed to know."

Smirking as he buried his face in her hair, taking in the scent that was distinctly hers, Conn whispered, "I love you, Chloe."


	16. Beannacht

Soooo, spring break didn't turn out as lucrative as I wanted. Apologies. But, despite all the homework I have to do, the muse decided to descend today. And, here at 1am, this is what I've got to show for it.

Also, writing up this chapter, I wanted to get people's opinions on what to refer to Stripes as now. Would it be weird just interchanging Stripes and her name? I'd love to know what people think.

Thanks so much for sticking with me despite the long waits and for the glorious reviews. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy. :)

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><p>"Murphy, go away. I'm on a date with your brother."<p>

Stripes attempted to bury her face further into Conn's chest as sunlight and cigarette smoke reached her. The night couldn't be over yet. It couldn't be morning. She wouldn't let it. As much as she loved Murphy, her powers of denial worked far better when all she had to concentrate on was how warm and wonderful it felt sleeping in Conn's arms.

But, Murphy laughed anyway and the delusion she so strongly wanted to cling to was gone. "Shame on ye, Stripes. Ye had an overnight date. Ye know what that means. Just shameful…" She could just see the suggestive twinkle in his grey eyes, a wink aching to break free.

Still refusing to look at him, she quipped, "I can't have a walk of shame in my own house, Murph. Besides, if anyone spent time in my bed last night, it was you and you probably got cookie crumbs in it."

"It's not my fault if you make crumby cookies."

Sensing it was time to strike the ever-oblivious man, she brought her head up and glared at him, "Oh, so now I'm not just fat and ugly, but I can't bake either?"

She felt Conn chuckle as Murph's eyes narrowed. Pointing at her with his cigarette, he complained, "Ye are purposely raining on my morning…_Chloe_."

She froze, paralyzed as her mind tried to decipher how he could've found out. Murph began to cackle as her panic swirled to a head across her face. Green eyes narrowing dangerously, she pointed a shaking finger at him, "You know! How do you know? Did Da tell you? Where's Da? I'm going to…not make him breakfast!"

All but dying of laughter, Murphy managed to get out, "Hey, don't blame Da. Blame yer fuckin' boyfriend there."

Recoiling with betrayal, Stripes eyed a softly chuckling Conn. She didn't want to believe it, but…could it be true? "Ye didn't!" she accused. He said nothing until she realized something. "Wait, how do _you_ know?"

Laughing and pulling her into a hug, "Ye told me last night when ye were half asleep." Pulling her into a kiss, he then whispered, "I couldn't very well tell ye I love ye without knowin' yer proper name."

Every remnant of prank-related anger gone, she looked up at him with red cheeks and a glowing smile. It was painful timing, but she'd rather have it at a bad time than never at all. She didn't manage to get a word out before Da appeared in the door to the roof.

At the sight of the look on his face and the duffle bag in his hand, Chloe's world promptly deflated.

"It's time to go, boys. Smecker is going ta be here in about ten minutes."

At his words, she felt a little portion of her heart die.

Conn's arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to her temple before letting out a deep sigh. Without a word, Murphy handed the shrinking bit of his cigarette to his brother. He needed all the help he could get.

Getting a hold of herself, Chloe quickly threw on a smile she'd been readying for that moment and stood. She was not about to make her last moments with them a crying fest. Holding out a hand to Conn, she declared, "Fuck, ten minutes. Come on, there's so much to do!" Grabbing both McManuses' hands, she ran toward the stairs.

"What the fuck are we doing, Stripes? Or, Chloe, or…whatever."

Smiling, she replied, "I like them both, Murph. I've become rather attached to Stripes actually. And I have to give you your presents."

"We're getting fuckin' presents?" Murph exclaimed with glee.

Stripes could only laugh as she left them in her kitchen as she gathered things, diligently ignoring the two packed duffle bags sitting conspicuously beside her bed. "Aye, Murph. You're getting presents."

"What are they? Ow!" Murph glared at his brother after he'd been punched in the arm.

"Be fuckin' patient, will ye?" Conn said with amusement.

"Be nice now, boys."

The two exchanged a look and Conn shook his head, "I'm not fuckin' calling ye Ma anymore, Chloe." She sent a smile back his way.

Tossing black hair back over her shoulder, she stood before them a moment later. Shoving a large bag of cookies at Murph, she began to explain, "Here are your travel goodies. I don't want to become as fat as Murphy thinks I am."

Groaning, he protested, "I do _not_ think you're fat!"

"Sure, sure. Anyway, Murph, here's the story of your country. I thought you'd enjoy always knowing." She handed him the horrible _Braveheart_ test he'd graded for her what felt like so long ago. "You taught me Gaelic; I figured I should teach you some history, too."

Chuckling as he looked over the horrendously wrong paper they'd gotten so much amusement from, he pulled her into a one-armed hug and kissed her forehead. "Thank ye, Stripes. Da and I got ye something, too."

She looked at him and Da, who had just stepped back in, with confusion. "But, I don't need anything."

"Presents aren't about need, lass. Since we're not going to be here, we thought it only fair we give ye something to help with yer paper."

Murphy, after putting his present in his bag, pulled out a book from its recesses. She took it gingerly from his hands, smiling as she read the cover. Smirking, Murph explained, "Fabulous teacher though I am, ye need something to direct ye in my absence. It was the best Gaelic dictionary we could find." Winking at her, he continued, "I made notes in the margin."

Stepping forward and hugging Da, she smiled at Murph over his shoulder, "_Maith agat._"

"Ye're welcome, lass. Yer gun is under yer pillow."

She nodded against his shoulder before Da let her go. Sending a look at Murphy, eliciting a smirk from his son, Da picked up his bag. Murph sent his brother an evil grin, "If ye take more than ten minutes, I'm comin' up after ye two. Can't have anythin' naughty happening on my watch."

"MURPH!" Stripes and Conn both yelled at him, before he disappeared into the hallway, laughing the entire time.

The door shut with a painful kind of finality. Instead of fluttering with excitement like it was supposed to when she was alone with Conn, Stripes' heart began to pound, fighting back tears before they showed in her eyes. After a tense moment that held an awkwardness neither was used to, she brought her eyes up to meet his.

Attempting a smile, she only managed, "He really is annoying, isn't he…" She screamed at herself internally. This was the last moment she might have with him forever for as much as she knew, and she was bitching about his brother? Honestly! Her green eyes immediately went back to her bare feet.

Smiling, knowing as always what was running through her mind, Conn smirked back, "I've been telling people for fuckin' years." He strode forward as he spoke, his last word ending with his arms wrapping around her, pulling her firmly into his chest.

As soon as her cheek met the smoky warmth of his t-shirt, she physically felt herself break. Clutching at his back with trembling hands, she buried her face into his chest and sobbed. She suddenly wondered how in the hell she was supposed to live without them, _him_, now. To hell with what her head tried to tell her; her heart knew what it wanted to do.

Running a hand through her long hair, Conn kneaded the small of her back with his thumb, not questioning what his body decided to do to comfort her. He was too busy with trying to memorize every single bit of her: the way her hair smelled, how soft her skin was beneath her shirt, how she was the perfect height for resting his chin on, the way she curled into him, how she was just…perfect.

Not fucking caring if Murphy was actually timing them, he let her cry herself out a bit longer before lifting her face from his chest. Smiling down at her, he helped her brush away her tears with his thumbs. Sniffing back the remnants of her last sob, a genuine smile appeared as she looked up at him. Blinking a few more times, she breathed, "I'm going to miss you, Conn."

He grinned, "Fucking right you will. I'm hot, remember."

Giggling, she pinched his back gently, "I knew I never should've said that…" The venom in her playful glare made him smile.

"It was cute," was all he said before leaning down and pressing his lips against hers, deepening it as she clutched at him again, pulling herself ever closer. Stripes felt well and truly tingly when he pulled back a gloriously long time later. Resting his forehead against hers, Conn sighed.

Smiling up at him, she whispered, "I love you, Connor McManus."

He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, "I love you, Chloe Sandler."

They remained like that a few minutes longer, ignoring any part of the world that didn't involve Stripes' kitchen.

"You should probably get going," she suggested finally.

"Probably." Neither of them moved. "Murphy will get fuckin' bitchy."

"Undoubtedly," she replied with amusement.

"Fuck."

Leaning up on her tiptoes, she pressed another lingering kiss to his lips, before backing away a step, "I forgot about your present."

"Ye mean ye touching my ass a few moments ago wasn't fuckin' it?"

Blushing, she smacked his arm, "Shut up! Here, it's stupid, but I want you to have it." She held out the green and black scarf he'd named her for. At his silence, she smiled, "I know, it really is stupid. You can't even use it for six months, but…" She didn't have the time to comment further, because he'd quickly descended on her mouth.

"Thank ye, Chloe." She just smiled at him as he put the garment in his duffle bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder with another sigh. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him, they walked out the door to the elevator.

"I was just about to come fuckin' after ye," Murph joked as they appeared on the sidewalk before her building. "Fuckin' doe-eyed wops."

Raising an eyebrow at him, Stripes threw back, "Hey, I can still fuckin' take yer cookies, Murphy McManus."

"Fuck no!" he cried, tossing them gently onto the backseat of Smecker's car before slamming the door, eying her suspiciously for a moment. Grinning, he walked over to her and threw his arm over her shoulders as well. Exchanging a look with his twin, they both pressed kisses to her temples.

Laughing, she pushed both of them when they lingered to the point of absurdity, "Come on, you have to go. Go kill some mobsters for me."

Murph pulled her into another hug, whispering, "Take care of yerself, Stripes. _Beannacht_," before moving back toward the car. Da gave her a smile of farewell and Smecker gave her a nod, clearly wanting things to go faster.

Conn was the only one left as the FBI agent started the car. Giving her one last sad look, he kissed her once again. Not saying a word, he quickly got into the backseat of the car as she wrapped her arms around herself. They pulled away moments later, leaving her with a hand held up in a wave as they disappeared around the corner.

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><p>The walk back to my apartment felt like it took forever. I felt this pull that kept yelling at me that I was going the wrong way. Conn and Murph and Da were the other way. Where was I going?<p>

Once back inside, I leaned against the door and let out a tear-riddled breath. I made my way toward my dresser and my polar bear pants, pride trying its hardest to keep my composure for as long as possible. It didn't matter if no one was there. It didn't matter if I was…alone.

Before I made it, I froze as I saw what was lying on my bed. I'd been so wrapped up in Conn, I hadn't noticed he'd left in a t-shirt. I hadn't noticed how he'd stealthily left her black pea coat laying across my bed. A round of sobs that dwarfed the ones I'd unloaded on Conn burst out of me as I flung myself toward it.

Not even bothering to change my clothes, I immediately pulled the coat on and wrapped myself up deep in my blankets. I pressed my face to the woolen material, breathing deeply and taking in that smoky scent that I knew as Connor's.

I laid there and cried, sobbing my broken heart out for the rest of the day. I cried and I wallowed and I let my sadness just take over as the sky outside my windows darkened.

TBS TBS

The next morning, I forced myself to get out of bed. I hadn't really slept. It just felt too odd without Murphy's light wheeze of a snore, the safe feeling Da's watchful eyes provided, and the extra warmth to my back from Conn. I just couldn't do it.

Ignoring my exhaustion, I ate some ice cream, got dressed, and packed my things. As I did so, my new Gaelic dictionary caught my eye. Smiling, I opened the front cover, wondering what Murphy had been talking about with his notes in the margin. From nowhere, my mood reflated as I read what he'd written to me:

"Stripes, we fuckin' love ye. Ye're brilliant and ye're gonna be a fuckin' awesome professor. Ye kick Gaelic's ass. Love, Murph (yer favorite twin), Da, and yer stupid fuckin' boyfriend."

Smirking with tears threatening, I slid the book into my bag, slipping on Conn's pea coat before I walked out the door. With them gone, I actively allowed my paper and Gaelic to take over my life for the next week.

Aside from lecturing and talking with my professor, I let my heart turn me into a zombie as it attempted to cope with what it had lost. For a week, I somehow managed to think of the McManuses every single moment, yet forcefully ignore how much I fucking missed them at the same time. For a week, I turned back into my old, world-shy self. For a week, I wrote my paper and translated my Gaelic.

For a week, I missed them with every single fiber of my being without reprieve.

Russians brought an end to my week.


	17. Russian Houseguests

Hello all,

So, here's the deal. This week I've got six finals Monday-Wednesday. Then Thursday, I go to my home with no internet. Then I'm gone to Europe for a month without my laptop. I'm sorry, I'm shoving another long wait on you guys. :( But, I'm going to try my very, very bestest and get another chapter up this week before I go!

But, thanks so very much for all your wonderful reviews and alerts. They really brighten up my study time. :) As always, thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you think, and I hope you enjoy! :)

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><p>Stripes unconsciously pulled Connor's coat more tightly around her as she approached her apartment building. It wasn't necessarily cold; March was actually warming into April quite nicely.<p>

Stripes had never really been a summer person. She loved the time of year that was occurring right then. It was still kinda chilly and she could wrap a scarf on and get the hot chocolate and snow cozy feeling without the blizzards and heating bills. She was the kind of girl that loved a good rainstorm. In fact, at that moment, rain was what she wanted more than anything. She wanted her life to be a cliché chick flick where the weather mimicked her broken heart and tried to make her feel better by sharing in her misery.

Boston's weather wasn't cooperating.

Not really having the energy, she didn't bother sending a glare skywards. Readjusting the strap of her bag, she snuggled further into the coat. It had become her surrogate Conn. She needed it, especially as she returned home for the first time since their departure on Sunday. Saturday's sun was setting and so she had headed home.

It was probably for the best, she surmised as she turned onto her street. She might as well get reacclimated to being alone. God and the universe had provided her a nice little vacation from it that her heart had chosen to complicate. She needed to step back into her real world. Plus, she was just getting disgusted with herself. She'd run out of clean clothes in her graduate office and washing her hair in a bathroom sink really wasn't that fun. She'd completely finished her paper, so there was no longer any excuse for her to stay.

It was time…

She'd done perfectly well before them; she just had to figure out how to survive after them. She would do that. Not entirely sure how successful she'd be, Stripes knew she had no choice but to try. Something good had to come out of them leaving. No matter how much horrible stuff decided to impose itself upon her life, something good always made up for it.

Right?

Physically shaking the doubt from her mind, she pulled her keys out. Vaguely noting the gray car she'd become accustomed to was gone, she continued through the decaying lobby. The jolting elevator ride was odd without some sort of conversation. She was more than half tempted to just ride all the way up to the roof and sit up there for a while. Fighting a wince from her rib when she pushed up the gate, she exited on her floor.

Deciding she was putting herself through more pain than she needed to, polar bear pajamas and a movie were her next best wallowing technique. Maybe it would be better not to immerse herself in how much she missed them. She needed to retain a little sanity.

Entering her now spookily empty home, she let the door swing closed behind her. Sighing heavily as she let her bag slip to the floor, she just took a moment. She wasn't quite sure what it was for, but she needed it.

Stripes was still in the middle of her moment when her door burst open.

Screaming in surprise, she rounded to see three large, bulky men crowded in her doorway. Each had an evil kind of smile on his face that she knew all too well. Frankie, Nicky, Chekov, and Papa Joe had all donned it, too. It was the smile that came from a man that knew he scared others and reveled in it.

For a second the four people just stared at each other, the world frozen as nothing moved.

Stripes was the first to move, chucking the nearest book in their direction and bolting for her window and fire escape, her survival reflexes in full panic mode. She was in mid-leap over her bed when a large, cold hand clamped around her ankle and wrenched her all the way down to the floor. Unable to keep in the screech her pain let out, she struggled against the hand. Within seconds, however, she had one of the easily over 200 pound men sitting on her chest with his knees pinning her shoulder joints to the floor.

Gasping against the lack of air, she stared up at him. The dark-haired man's steel blue eyes brightened and his grin widened, "Hello, pretty. I am Alexi. Where are the Irishmen? Where are the Saints?"

The question she'd been wondering since they came in had been answered. They were Russian. His accent and question answered her query perfectly. How the hell had they found her house? Also, why did mobsters always feel the need to introduce themselves? Why did they always think that she needed to know their names before attempted murder? Burglars didn't leave their business cards. She just didn't get it.

Forgetting to always think fast and answer quicker, she was silent just long enough to earn her a smack to the side of the head. Hissing in pain, she looked back at him. He asked again, "Where are they?"

"They," she wheezed out, "aren't here."

Screaming what sounded like a lot of Russian profanity, Alexi leaned more heavily onto her, painfully squishing her lungs and ribs. "WHAT? You're lying."

Glaring up at him, she shook her head. She forced out every whispered word, "You missed them by a week." Smiling suddenly that her attempt to protect them had actually worked, she continued, "You're too late."

"But we saw them here! They were here for days. We watched, we waited, we knew they were here! Where are they?" Alexi had turned to accuse his compatriots, slipping back and forth from English to Russian, approaching the point of hysteria at missing his targets.

Any amusement Stripes had was gone. They'd been watching them? How long had they been watching? An intensely violated feeling settled upon her.

As Alexi went through his breakdown, her fear began doing its job, analyzing her situation for anything she could find useful. She couldn't make it to the window. She wasn't sure she'd even be able to have the lung capacity to walk after her current position. Throwing anything was pointless. There were too many. Her perching Russian didn't have his gun out, but she could see it hiding conveniently beneath his shoulder behind his black jacket. The other two had their pistols out and ready, pointed in her general direction. She could see each had an extra gun, too.

No, fighting back was not going to go well.

She physically kept herself from even looking toward her bed and the gun hiding underneath her pillow. Don't even go there, Chloe, she told herself. She'd learned once not to provoke the gun-toting evil mobsters. Call her selfish, but she would prefer being dead later rather than sooner. However small the possibility, she still might see Conn one day.

Fuck her depression to Hell, she was going to stay fuckin' alive to see him!

Alexi brought his attention back to his hostage soon enough, grabbing her throat and squeezing. Panicking, she began to flail against his hold. She could see the change in his eyes. She'd seen the snap. With no useful information, she had lost her value so he was going to end her then.

Furiously fighting the black spots in her vision, she held on as long as she could, feet trying to get enough traction to kick him, arms working against his knees, back trying and failing to buck him off, praying that her super-glued wound would hold. Her screams were silenced by the lack of oxygen as she swore she could feel her larynx weakening against the massive force upon it.

Suddenly, it all just ended. Alexi's weight vanished and her world exploded. Wheezing frantically as the whoosh of oxygen to her chest and head physically pained her, Stripes defensively curled into a ball on her side. She vaguely heard Russian in the background of her pounding head.

Before she could properly regain her breath, a hand was hauling her up off the ground by the coat she'd been unable to even take off. Glaring, Alexi shoved her toward one of his compatriots, "Fine, take the fucking girl back, Viktor. Don't bitch to me when the boss shoots you for it."

Despite knowing his intentions were far, far, really cosmically far away from honorable, Stripes thanked God that Viktor had been made to walk the earth. The younger, blonde man just shrugged at Alexi's warning before harshly gripping her upper arm as they strode and she stumbled out into the hallway.

Stripes heard a number of doors slam decisively shut before they made it to the elevator. Well, she wasn't getting any help from her neighbors. Not that she could really blame them. Going up against a group of mobsters wasn't something she'd do after actually thinking about it either.

Viktor's vice grip hold kept Stripes upright as they pulled her into the alley. Their car hadn't disappeared; they'd just moved it into the dark to wait for her. Shuddering at the fact that there were mobsters that knew how to plan and plan well, she drug her feet as much as she could without seeming defiant. She needed time to think.

Murphy had been right and she'd always known it. Her strategy wasn't going to work. Her strategy was impossible save some divine intervention including smiting from the Lord Almighty. Her strategy was to ride things out and delay until someone came to save her.

Nobody was coming to save her. She had nobody to save her except herself.

Brain still whirling but with nothing to show for it, Stripes was shoved into the pungent, smoky backseat of the car, Viktor right beside her. Still trembling in pain, she brought her knees up to her chest for protection as the car pulled out onto the street. Her neck was throbbing but she couldn't feel any blood dripping down her shirt. She took that as a good sign her cut hadn't broken open. Small mercies…

Alexi glared back at her and her labored breathing in the fading light every chance he got. Unable to tear her gaze away, Stripes found herself stumbling into the hatred within them. Regardless of where they were taking her, she wasn't going to live very long after they stopped. She could tell. Alexi didn't care what Viktor wanted. She got the feeling he just wanted the other mobster in trouble and that's the only reason he'd allowed her a few more hours of life.

Eyes narrowing, he suddenly turned into an alley, causing his two partners to start in surprise. Apparently that was not the way back to their place. Fear flaming up into a full-blown inferno in her stomach, Stripes' thought process completely left her. Her body did what her subconscious wanted before she knew what was happening. Her subconscious was _not_ going to die before she saw the McManuses again.

With the car still speeding along far too fast for safety in the small space, Stripes lashed out and pulled Viktor's gun from his opposite hip. Throwing her elbow back into his face, she ignored his cry of pain. Before Alexi could even lift his eyes to glare at her, she brought the gun up and closed her eyes as her finger squeezed as Murphy had taught her. All the liquid brain matter that had previously been inside Alexi's skull promptly splattered onto the windshield as her pointblank bullet decided to take it on vacation. She only opened her eyes again in order to aim at the shocked man in the passenger seat who began screaming as a dumpster filled his entire line of sight. Her bullet cut him off abruptly.

She quickly hid herself behind the driver's seat as the car careened head-on into the dumpster. She was thrown back against the car door with a shout as the handle dug into her back. Wheezing, she leaned her head back against the cold window for a second, her brain sprinting to try and figure out what the fuck had just happened. A groan snapped her out of it.

Fumbling with her gun, her eyes snapped open to see an angry Viktor lunge at her, blood streaming down his face from a broken nose. Screaming, she flung open the car door and fell out in a heap. She was struggling to her feet when he grabbed her hair with a roar of pain. Conscious action once again leaving her, she took her gun and hit him in the arm with its handle until he relinquished his grasp.

She was almost to her feet when the gunshot rang out. The sound paralyzed her more than the pain as it echoed off the buildings closing in the space. Ignoring the fire in her leg as she fell again to the concrete, she managed to get the gun into a semi-correct position in her left hand and fired behind her. Heaving, she heard a gurgle a second later.

Panting but unable to catch her breath, Stripes snuck a glance above her to see Viktor lying face down out of the backdoor of the car, a large amount of blood pouring from the hole she'd just shot in his throat. She refused to allow her eyes to go to the front seat where there was blood and brain matter splattered positively everywhere.

For a very long moment, Stripes just laid there, clutching the gun in her hands and trembling. When the odd haze that had overtaken her vision finally cleared, she pulled herself to her knees, looking down at her left leg. Blood had soaked into her jeans in a small line running down from her thigh to her shoe. Prying the torn edges away from each other, she quickly surveyed the wound.

Beyond relieved, she found it was a graze more than anything. It had already stopped bleeding. For once, she'd been lucky. She could feel blood congealing on a new gash on her forehead from the car wrecking, but it didn't hurt enough to cause her pause. She had just killed three Russian mobsters: she had far more important things to do than worry about a little of her blood.

Not caring to find out if Alexi even had both eyes left to cover with pennies, Stripes flicked the safety on the gun and stuck the horrible thing in the back of her jeans, covering it with her pea coat. She needed all the help she could get on her way home. Taking a deep, wavering breath, she used the car to pull herself the rest of the way to her feet.

Pulling the coat as tightly around her and as high up on her neck as she could, she walked with as little limp as possible out of the alleyway back towards her home, all the while trying to get it into her head that it had not been her fault. She'd just murder—_killed_ them, but they'd tried it first.

After the first block, the tears began. Slowly they started, but by the next crosswalk she was a bawling mess, wishing more than anything she'd ever wished for before that miraculously she could go home and Conn would magically be there to hold and love her, Murphy would be there to overreact, and Da would look at her with that look that said everything was okay, she'd done the right thing.

No one stopped her the entire walk, deciding it best to leave the hysterical woman alone. It was dark enough no one could notice the blood stains anyway. Her survival instincts ignored her turmoil and shock, ensuring she looked down every sidewalk, street, alleyway and vaguely dark spot with directed paranoia before she continued.

The light to her apartment was still shining brightly to the world when she arrived at her building; however, the familiar place held no real warmth to her in her current state. She didn't feel better. It wasn't until she turned her unlocked doorknob and walked in to find a still empty home that she even allowed herself to stop jumping at shadows.

Wiping her tears away with her sleeve, she made a decision in that moment. She was _not_ going to stay there to get killed. The McManuses had changed her life, no doubt about it, and she loved them for it. She loved them for it more than she could probably ever express to them, and now her old life was gone beyond recall.

If she wanted to have life, her old life had to be left. She could figure out how to live with herself and what she'd done once she was in a position that wasn't life-threatening.

It took her all of five seconds of standing in front of her door before she got to work. Stripes pulled her coat gently off, laying it across her kitchen table. Placing her new gun beside it, she kicked off her shoes, slid out of her jeans, and made for the bathroom. After throwing up violently once, vigorously scrubbing the blood from her hands, and wrapping a gauze bandage around her leg, she pulled her black hair back in a ponytail. She was going to have to stop dyeing it. Smiling a tad bit, she remembered how much Conn and Murphy had wanted to know what her natural hair color was.

There was nothing to be done about covering up her neck. Alexi's large handprints were bruised into her skin deeply—too deeply to makeup away. Once she'd pulled pants back on again, she grabbed a bright, summery scarf from her dresser. After physically hiding the evidence of her evening, she dropped to the floor and pulled her rolling suitcase from under her bed.

Hauling it up onto her bed, she looked about her home. "Well, Stripes," she asked herself, "what books can you not live without?"

Half an hour later, her suitcase was full of all her favorite history books, her important documents, and as many clothes as she'd been able to stuff in around the rest. Her polar bear pajamas and _Aladdin_ were safely snuggled within. Getting it off the bed and extending the handle, she rewrapped the floral scarf so none of her neck showed and pulled on Conn's coat. She placed the Russian gun again in the back of her jeans and the one from the McManuses in the outside pocket of the messenger bag that she slung over her shoulders. She kept the zipper undone, her fingertips resting gently on the metal.

It was official: she had a love-hate relationship with firearms, but she didn't see them going away anytime soon.

Placing her keys on the kitchen table, she flicked off the light and shut the door. Stripes never went back to that apartment again.


	18. Sanctuary

Hello all,

So despite previous doubts, I have been able to write from Europe. Hooray! That being said, I kinda don't like it because this is, for lack of a better tern, a filler chapter. I don't like those. They need to happen but I don't like it and grrr... For some reason, most of what came out involved Stripes dealing with the fact she'd just killed a few people and she's all alone. I don't know if I like it. Sorry, I'm just babbling now.

Anyhow, thanks for reading and leaving lovely reviews, I'd love to know what you think, and I hope you enjoy. :)

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><p>For only the second time in two years, Stripes found herself entering a subway station.<p>

Once upon a time, she'd loved the subway. With the money for a metro pass, she rode the thing constantly, not only to school, but just to get out. When in high school, she'd ride everywhere even down to South Boston or the docks. She never actually got off the train, she just liked the anonymity of being one of the masses. She'd gotten so used to it, sometimes she reveled in it.

The last time had ended her love affair, however. The last time, she'd found herself in almost the exact same situation: scared, crying, and alone, with her belongings in her suitcase and nowhere to go. The last time she'd been able to afford the subway, she had just been kicked out of her home.

Now, she really didn't have the money to spare, but she wasn't going to walk out on the street a moment longer. Plus, the quickest way to get to her destination was by the subway. Whether it would help at all, she didn't know yet. In fact, as she collapsed into one of the seats, she wondered if she wasn't a bit crazy.

They hadn't wanted her before. Why would they want her back?

But, Stripes couldn't think of anything else to try. So, she sat in the now claustrophobic space, her two guns digging into her skin in a terrifyingly comforting way. She knew that she couldn't feel safe without them now. Anxiously sitting in her seat as the darkness rushed by outside, she suddenly wondered if she'd ever feel truly safe again.

She'd feel safe if she were with Connor. She'd feel safe if she had a McManus back. She'd feel safe if she knew that someone near loved her…and conveniently knew how to use a weapon better than she did.

Taking a deep breath as she tried to keep her cool when two men sat across from her, she knew that she didn't have them. She had to get by without them. She _had_ to live without them. She had to take care of herself now. She'd already proven she could. She'd just single-handedly killed three Russian mobsters.

That thought not making her feel as good as she expected, she had to fight back another round of vomit. No, thinking about Alexi, Viktor, and whoever the third man had been was not a good strategy…

Instead, she leaned her head back against the window, closing her eyes and imagining lying in bed with Conn and Murph on either side of her. She thought of the way her whole body felt like it lit up whenever he kissed her, how perfect her life had seemed despite everything just because they were in it. She chose to ignore the meeting with her family she was about to have and the way her fingers tightened around the grip of her pistol…

TBS TBS

"Come on, Conn, cheer up. I fuckin' miss her, too," Murphy said just loud enough to be heard over the din of the Saturday night bar crowd, squeezing his twin's shoulder. It had been a week and Conn had kept the mood of a temperamental bear the entire time. It was starting to get to his twin. One of them couldn't be in a horrible mood for long before the other began suffering from it, too.

"Not helping, Murph," was all Conn answered, staring dejectedly into his beer, though not shrugging off his brother's attempt at comforting him.

Sighing, Murph signaled Doc for another round. After they'd reached New York City, they had fortuitously stumbled upon Doc's brother's bar, The Green Pub. It was comfortingingly similar to McGinty's, the only real thing missing was a certain waitress, an absence the three of them acutely felt.

From his other side, Da offered, "Lad, she's not going to want yer sulking to get ye killed. If ye don't want to cheer up, than at least wake up a bit. We've got some business tonight after we're done here."

"Aye, Da, I know," he bit back. "I'm fuckin' awake. Just because I'm not fuckin' happy about it doesn't mean I'm going to get myself killed. Jesus fuckin' Christ, ye two spent enough time trying to get the two of us together, can't ye fuckin' let me mope a bit!"

Throwing back the rest of his beer after instinctively crossing himself at his language, he then stood and shoved his way through the crowd to take his cigarette outside.

TBS TBS

Fighting back sobs in vain, Stripes pulled the door of the phone booth closed with a slam. Attempting to ignore the throbbing in her wounded leg, she stood with her head against the glass wall, taking small comfort from the anonymity she then possessed.

No, going back home had not been a good call.

Her first expulsion from her childhood home had been painful enough, but she wasn't sure she was ever going to get the second out of her mind. They hadn't even opened the door. They hadn't taken the time to notice the bruises and cuts on her face or the tears in her eyes. No, all they had done was scream at her to leave, that they hated her, and that they were going to call the authorities if she didn't get the fuck out that instant. She hadn't found the sanctuary there she'd hoped for, and now she truly had no idea where to go.

It had not been a good night to make the largest understatement of Stripes' life.

Pulling out a few stray quarters, she commenced making the first of two calls that her heart and head were begging her to make. Sniffing pathetically against the snot continuing to run from her nose, she collected herself enough to talk to the recipient of her call, perching lightly on top of her suitcase to relieve her sore leg and pulling her coat tighter about her. Within three rings, she was greeted with a familiar voice, sleepy given it was nearing one in the morning.

"_Hello?"_

"Hi, Paul. It's Chloe."

His tone softened a bit, as if he knew she'd call eventually, "_They_ _got there safely, Chloe. You can stop worrying, I promise._" She hadn't gotten up the gumption to call him to ask after them before in the week and at first it threw her as to why he assumed that was her reason for calling. It already felt like they'd been gone a year.

"No, no, that's not why I'm calling. I'm glad they're there and safe, but there-there's something else."

She could almost feel him bristle through the phone. Voice a mixture between sympathetic and stiffly worried, he asked crisply, "_Chloe, what's happened_?"

Failing to keep her composure for a second, it took her a few good deep breaths before she could answer with clearly forced nonchalance, "Oh, someone just tried to kill me again. No big deal."

"_Bull shit, honey. Spill the fucking beans right now. Who was it?_"

"Russians. The leader's name was Alexi."

"_Fuck, now the Russians have found you?_" She heard some slight scuffling that she assumed was Smecker finding something to write things down on. Then suddenly there was a tense silence until he continued, "_The _leader? _Chloe, how many were there? Are you all right? Are they still there?"_

"I'm fine. I promise. I just got grazed a bit." She tried to downplay things by saying glibly, "There were only three." And her strong front died immediately as she went on, "I-I killed them. They're all dead… I-I wrecked the car and then shot them all."

There was a very distinct silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob she failed to swallow and the few late night subway commuters. For the first time in her relatively short acquaintance with him, Stripes heard FBI Agent Paul Smecker stutter, at a loss for words, "_Y-You killed them? They're all dead? The Russians sent a three man hit squad for you and you killed them?"_

"Well, they were there for the McManuses, but yes, they're dead." Hiccupping against a sob, she laughed for lack of anything else to do, "Believe me, I don't know how I'm alive either. I-I just thought I should tell you." She gave him the general street address of the alleyway where the car and their three dead bodies were probably sitting relatively undisturbed.

"_But you're all right?"_

"Yeah, I'm finding a place to stay at the moment. I," she struggled to find the correct word, "_moved_ out of my place tonight."

By then he'd regained his composure, "_Okay, let me know where when you've settled somewhere. Stay low, Chloe. I don't know when any of this is going to turn into a trial. You need to stay alive, honey._"

Forcing something resembling a jovial tone, she nodded despite being on the phone, "I will. Thanks. Oh, and Paul…don't tell them about this."

"_Why? They'll want to know."_

"Because they love me, I love them, and they're not coming back to save me." With that and a good-bye, she hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment.

Not for the first time that night, she just felt so…lost. What now? Where now? When would things be normal? When would she see them again? When would someone try and kill her again? Why her?

Though she was lower than she could ever remember, the last thought brought her out of her bout of self-pity. Why didn't matter. Why didn't do anything. Her because something good had to happen.

_God gave ye to us_.

That's what Conn had told her just a little over a week ago. God had then taken them away from her, but the big guy had to have a plan of some kind. She'd gotten a good break when, as Conn put it, He gave her to them. She just had to keep chugging along until He decided to give them back.

What else was there to do?

Jingling the other quarters she had in her hand, Stripes picked up the phone once more and slid the remaining coins into their slot with more purpose than a second before. She needed to talk to someone who loved her. She needed someone and then she'd get on with the whole living thing she was struggling through. She just needed a moment and then she'd get right back to it.

The list of people was rather short, which made deciding easy. She had no idea how to get in touch with the McManuses. She'd just spoken to Smecker and he was probably on his way to the crime scene anyway. Her family hated her. That left the man who had welcomed her into the scary world that was South Boston and make it just a little less intimidating.

It cost her a few more coins, but she punched in the number for the Green Pub in New York City. Doc was probably still up working. It was Saturday night after all.

TBS TBS

"I'll be right fuckin' b-b-b-b-b-back," Doc McGinty shouted to the collected patrons at his brother's bar as he stepped away to pick up the phone that had begun ringing. "Fuck! Ass!" His departure was then greeted with a round of laughter.

The phone was hidden back behind the bar in the storeroom. It made it a hell of a lot easier to talk to people back there away from a bit of the noise when things were in full swing like they were at that moment. He'd wondered when he first moved down from Boston if things would be the same. They definitely were. The accents were a bit different, but bar patrons were a breed that kept a strict schedule everywhere. Saturday night in Boston was the same as Saturday night in New York City.

"Hello."

"_Doc!"_

He'd know that voice anywhere, as ironic as that was. He'd heard it little enough that he'd recognize it anywhere, "Chloe, lass, h-h-h-how are you? Fuck! Ass!"

Even with the din, he could tell there was something wrong when she replied, "_Oh, all right. Just a little lonely, I guess. How about you?"_

Yes, he swore he could make out tears in there. Knowing that if she hadn't mentioned it, it was better he didn't either, he replied, "Oh, I'm f-f-f-f-f-fine. New York is just like Boston. H-h-h-h-hey Chloe, could you hold on a second? It's real busy here."

She tried to hide it but he could hear the discouragement in her words, "_Of course_."

Holding his hand over the receiver, he looked out from around the corner. Finding the closest McManus, he shouted above the noise, "Hey, Murphy, c-c-c-c-c-come here. Fuck! Ass!"

The younger man glanced up from his beer, then alone after his twin had roughly pushed his way outside and Da had followed soon after. Taking another swig, he stood and wound his way through the crowd to get behind the bar. "What do ye need, Doc?" he asked with a frown.

Smirking, the old man held out the phone, "I n-n-n-n-n-need ye to take this. Fuck! Ass!"

He didn't give Murphy much of a choice as he shoved the receiver into his hand and then made his way back to the bar, filling up a few glasses as he did. Shaking his head at the bartender's odd ways, Murphy smirked as he brought the phone to his ear, "Hello?"

"_MURPHY!"_

"Fuckin' hell!" he shouted as he nearly dropped the phone at the screech that greeted him. It took him a moment of ear ringing to realize who he was on the phone with, "Stripes?"

Sobbing immediately resounded through the phone, though he knew well enough to know that, for once, it was happy tears. "_Hi. How are you guys?"_

Smirking, he shrugged, "Oh, ye know. I'm my usual dashing self. Da is his usual awesome self. And Conn is moping around like a lost fuckin' puppy. Speaking of," he leaned back out from behind the wall and yelled, "Hey, somebody go get my fuckin' brother!" Turning back to the phone he continued, "He should be here in a bit. How many minutes do you have?"

"_Just a few. Has work been okay_?"

"Aye, we've got some tonight to work on, but it shouldn't be too bad. What've ye been up to?"

The pause to collect her thoughts was not lost upon Murphy. "_I finished my paper this week. I missed you guys so I just stayed at school…"_

"We do have that effect on women. It's because ye love us, Stripes."

He heard her laugh and for some reason he knew she needed it. "_It's true. Whatever Conn's been like, I can guarantee I've been far worse. It's all because ye're dashing, Murph."_

They talked a few more minutes about nothing in particular. Murphy yelled for someone to retrieve his brother twice more, but the phone began beeping at Stripes before he appeared. Smiling sadly, he asked, "Are ye going to be okay, Chloe?"

"_Aye, I'll be okay. I'll figure thing out. I always have. Hey, Murph…"_

"Aye?"

"_I love you guys."_

"He loves ye, too, Stripes."

The phone ended the call before she had a chance to say good-bye. Once again, he wondered if leaving her had really been the right choice. Setting the receiver back in it cradle, he walked back out to retrieve his warming beer. After getting a new one, he made his way through the crowd to reach the door to the alley. He found both his family members there, leaning against the brick wall smoking.

Glancing at his still dejected twin, he sighed and said without any real venom, "Ye stupid fuckin' wop, ye missed her call. She said she loves ye."

TBS TBS

Stripes stood before the building, wondering for the umpteenth time that night if the thought that was attacking the inside of her skull was a good idea. She could blame it on being a history major.

_God gave ye to us._

Sexy Irish accent that kept playing over in her mind aside, that statement had led her to one conclusion. God mixed with historical knowledge led to the Church which led to a church which led to sanctuary. Once upon a time in the world, a sacred place—a church—was a sanctuary free from legal ramifications. There anyone fleeing from anything was immune.

Of course, she doubted either the Russian or Italian mobs would recognize that fact, but at four in the morning after a night of wandering the streets clutching her pistol so hard her fingers had cramped, she was looking at her best option. That option came in the form of the large Catholic edifice before her. Besides, what mafia member would look in a church?

_God gave ye to us_.

Well, God had then taken them away and until she figured out what to do, she didn't think He would mind letting her borrow a pew in His house.

TBS TBS

When Father Macklepenny came around that morning, turning on more of the lights to ready the chapel for seven o'clock mass, he was not expecting to find a woman curled up in the back pew. He had seen many a strange thing while being an ordained man of God in Boston—his brush with death and a horrible smelling Italian man two weeks prior, for instance—and the woman was not one of the oddest. She was sleeping quietly, a black wool coat pulled tightly around her as a blanket. Her shoes were lying on the ground atop a large suitcase, her feet bare.

The thing that shook him was the gun in her hand. It was curled in one of the hands she had under her head as a pillow.

At a second glance, he knew that coat, that gun, and that woman. Approaching carefully lest he have another unpleasant run-in with a gun-wielding person, he gently grasped her shoulder, "Chloe?"

She jolted awake, her fingers tightening their grip on her weapon but nothing more. Blinking a few times, her green eyes came into focus and her small voice greeted, "Good morning, father."

"Chloe, what are you doing…here?"

That was the question he verbalized, but she knew the question he was actually asking. Slowly, she brought her gun into her lap and pulled the other from the back of her jeans. Looking up at him, she asked, "You took their confessions?"

"Yes, but as you know I can't—"

"Father, I know what they told you. I was there for some of it. But they had to leave and now their fight is mine and I'm on the defensive." He could only stare at her for a long moment, gaze shifting between her face and the weapons she held. "Father, I have nowhere else to go."

Finally smiling, he nodded at her, "Very well. Come on, we have a caretaker's you can stay in. Nobody's used it for years, but it should do." He continued chattering about nothing, merely taking the exhausted woman's arm and the handle of her luggage. The Almighty worked in mysterious ways and the least he could do was give her a place to stay. From the sound of it, she had enough to worry about without having to stay on the street. He could help with that.


	19. Preparation

Why hello there!

So, I've said it previously about the mob, but I would like to mention that the FBI and whatnot is not a specific area of expertise of mine. I'm more of a medieval Europe/WWII kind of gal. Therefore, I just want to clarify that I'm using them shamelessly for my own nefarious plot needs. Forgive me if it's not entirely accurate. I did work to make it plausible, at least.

Later this week this lifetime Nebraskan is going to try and survive London, England. So, the next update is probably going to be a little while in coming. Well, I have spent entirely too much time talking here. That said, I don't own anything, etc, etc, thanks so much for reading, let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy. :)

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><p>"Really? You're done with them <em>all<em> already?"

Stripes smiled faintly at the surprise on her professor's face. What could she say? She had a heinous amount of spare time these days.

"But the final exam was on Monday. How can you have them all graded already? It's only Wednesday!" Continuing to only give him a small smirk, she shrugged. Usually Dr. Grainger was about as far from emotional as a person could get. Stripes had often wondered if his wife was overly emotional, somehow balancing him out. It was really kind of amusing to see him so worked up.

Regardless of those mental questions, she explained simply, "My job isn't really that taxing. I get free rent and fifty bucks a week to make sure I'm at home Wednesday and Saturday nights and all day Sunday and do some vacuuming. I've had the free time, trust me."

Father Macklepenny had gone above and beyond what he needed to. She had counted on being in the church for a night, maybe two. It was then creeping up on a month. Every time she promised she would look into getting a new place, he miraculously noticed something that needed to be dealt with, be it dusting, weeding, or the continuous vacuuming. When none of those were an option, he'd protest, asking her who on earth would know how to ring the bells properly if she went away. The fact that she'd been doing it all of a few weeks meant nothing to him.

She regretted every moment of her life she'd spent fearing priests. Those she'd found were really incredibly decent human beings, something of a rarity for her.

While her two day jobs were being a grad student and the unofficial caretaker of a Catholic church, she tended to moonlight as a woman wanted and hunted by the Italian and Russian mafias. The variety was unappreciated, to say the least.

Alexi and Viktor had wreaked havoc on her soul when she first arrived at the church. She prayed and wished for a conviction like Connor and Murphy's. If she had the faith they did, she wouldn't be having a problem. Unfortunately, even living in His house hadn't been the answer. Walking a thin tightrope, she had struggled with the knowledge that she had killed people. She had pulled the trigger. She had been the reason their hearts had stopped beating. Only through the subtle consolations from Macklepenny and a few more phone calls with Doc had it begun to occur to her with any sticking ability that what she had told Connor so long ago made sense.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. That Edmund Burke guy had been thinking some deep thoughts long ago…

Those men were bad, evil even, and they had started it. They were no different than the men she'd understood the McManuses killing. Just because she hadn't expected to have to been the person to stop doing nothing and prevent the triumph of evil didn't mean her situation was any different. Just, in her case, the triumph of evil was closer to the triumph of ending her life.

After awhile her historical mind had come up with a metaphor that helped her argumentative conscience. Some had called the McManuses soldiers from God. She'd always understood that was what the whole Saints moniker was shooting for. Saint wasn't a title she gave to or wanted for herself, but she was now in that little army that had arisen. Connor, Murphy, and Da had volunteered, enlisted. She'd been drafted. Just because she hadn't signed up didn't mean the enemy wasn't going to try and kill her just as much as the next guy.

While their faces still leered at her from the darkness, the next attempt on Stripes' life had snapped all those beliefs into place like they needed to be for her sanity.

Mario the Italian thug had served the purpose of that impetus. After putting his gun to the back of her neck in the middle of a crowd as she walked home from class, less than a week after Alexi and Viktor, her conscience had made up its mind. It was _his_ gun up against her skin first. It was _his_ bullet that was going to make her heart stop beating. Mario was okay with it. Nobody was making him. He'd even chuckled with delight as he whispered all the ways she could prolong her life by giving him favors in the next alley. _He_ had started it.

Her bullet had shakily ended it when she permitted him to shove her into the alley. Luck and three more bullets had ended the next three mobsters to jump her in the past month. They started it; she just squeezed like Murphy had taught her.

"Chloe, are you all right?"

Shaking her head a bit, Stripes pulled herself out of the reveries she had become prone to falling into. She blamed it on the complete and utter lack of witty conversation. Macklepenny was a nice man; however sarcasm and he were not the most understanding of one another. She also blamed it on missing the McManuses so damn much.

"I'm sorry; I just remembered something from a paper I'm grading. What were you saying?"

"I finished reading your paper this morning. It was very impressive. You could easily elaborate and make a thesis from it next semester if you chose. Who did you find to translate for you?"

Pushing her still black hair gently back over her shoulders into a ponytail, she explained, "My…boyfriend and his family are Irish. They taught me Gaelic."

"Boyfriend?"

There was an element of such surprise in that one word that Stripes knew most women would be offended. However, she wasn't. Becoming Conn's girlfriend—or whatever exactly their one day relationship made them still—had surprised her just as much as it would anyone who knew her. "It's a bit complicated."

Clearing his throat, clearly uncomfortable, Grainger took a long moment to pause. While they had faded down to a sickly yellow in most places, he starkly remembered Chloe's injuries from a few weeks prior. In that time, it seemed that once a bruise began to fade she got two new ones to take its place. Boyfriend…

"I…Well, I know it isn't any of my business, how is that relationship going? You've been a little…colorful in the last few weeks."

While her professor's so sincerely earnest concern was touching, she had to hold back a snort of amusement. The mere thought of Connor hitting her was comical. Neither twin would ever do anything of the sort. "They haven't actually been in town for a few weeks. I promise my color stems from some…other trouble I've been having. Speaking of, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

The subject thankfully away from people and emotions and whatnot, Grainger let out a sigh of relief, "Of course."

"I'm going to be transferring universities next semester. Boston and I are…no longer on good terms with each other. I'm going to be moving later this summer. I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the purpose of applying to new schools."

Gathering himself after a start of shock, her professor could only stare at her for a long moment. "Of course I'll write you one. You've been an exceptional student. Where are you going, Chloe?"

"I'm not sure yet," she lied gracefully. After assuring him that she would have all her grades in by the following Monday, she bid him goodbye and left. She had to admit she was going to miss him. He'd been a good man, oblivious but good. She was probably never going to see him again, not if the meeting in two weeks with Paul and his boss went the way she hoped.

TBS TBS

"So, how's she doing, Paul?"

Da made sure his voice was lowered as he stood in the back of the Green Pub. Conn and Murphy were right next to him, the former staring at the phone as if it would magically make her appear. On the other end of the line, Smecker let out an extremely tired sigh, "_She's certainly not doing my gray hairs any favors, especially with getting her witness protection rolling. She used to be so sweet; you guys put some angry Irish in her, I swear._"

Smirking at that, Da continued, "Aye, ye're welcome. Has she been safe?"

"_For the most part,_" Smecker lied. He'd kept his promise to her and not mentioned the numerous run-ins with the mob she was having. Though it'd be a hell of a lot easier to just tell them, have them come back and kick some ass, he knew that Stripes was right. She was one person and loners were harder to track. She hadn't been killed yet, though he couldn't help but think that she'd been closer to it than she ever mentioned. "_They've managed to almost find her a time or two, but she's smart. She's been doing okay. She's living at a church. I've got a meeting with her in about an hour, actually."_

"What the fuck do ye mean they almost found her?" Conn demanded.

"_I mean they are looking for her, just like before you left, and they almost found her but she kept away," _Smecker explained, his tone coming across as exasperated as he tried to make it sound plausible enough. If they ever found out the truth and decided to take it out on him, he swore he was going to give Chloe up in a second. Just because he thought she was right didn't mean he enjoyed lying to them. "_I need to get going, in fact. We're getting some trial details figured out. Is there a time you'll be around? I can tell her to call you."_

"Aye, we'll be here tomorrow night," Da answered, beating Conn to the punch. "When is the trial?"

"_June 22. I'll tell her to try and call you._"

He began to say goodbye, when Conn broke in, "Hey, Smecker. Tell her we still love her."

"_Will do, Conn. I'll talk to you guys later._"

Smecker sighed once again after he'd hung up the phone. That girl had better keep herself alive, because if she didn't he was going to get it, and he didn't think he'd fault them for it either. He just wished there was more he could do to help her, but without giving away his involvement with the McManuses, he couldn't do much. Pushing his phone to the side of his desk, he pushed back his chair and gathered his things. He hadn't been lying about the meeting with Chloe.

He didn't know what exactly had happened in the almost two months or so those boys had been gone, but as May was almost gone, she'd become different. Most of the time she was the same Chloe he knew, shy, quiet, and sweet. He wasn't sure if it was being alone once again or being alone and wanted by the mafia, but Chloe had picked up a heavy dose of assertion when it came to keeping herself alive…and demanding things from the federal government.

While he was sure it was going to be amusing, part of him was rather dreading the upcoming meeting. He was taking his boss to meet her and settle some details concerning her witness protection. It wasn't very often that a witness was in a position to make demands, but Chloe was and she hadn't been wasting it.

He was rather glad the normal Chloe wasn't like the assertive one. She'd be a pain in the ass to deal with…

Straightening his suit jacket, he strode out of his office. Focus on the amusing part, he told himself over and over. Yes, Chloe swearing at his boss with an Irish vocabulary was going to be amusing…

"Dammit, of all the things to learn, why did it have to be their profanity she picked up?" he groaned, pulling the door closed.

TBS TBS

Hand itching to go for the gun hiding in the back of her shorts beneath her dark-colored sundress and double check it was there, Stripes made another circle around the park. The day she could walk out of the house and feel safe when unarmed was going to be a welcomed, glorious day.

Thanks to Boston's warm May weather, her pea coat had had to be shed. It was becoming harder to conceal her weapons, but she couldn't, wouldn't leave church without them. She'd been doing too good a job of staying alive over the last two months. The conviction she'd felt so long ago when Smecker first brought up the possibility of her testifying had come back full force. Papa Joe was going to go to jail and her words were going to send him there. She could get back to being shy and hiding pleasantly from the world, preferably with the McManuses for company, once he was locked up somewhere with a big Russian working as his pimp and renting him out for cigarettes.

At least, that was the vision that gave her strength whenever she felt someone press a weapon against her skin.

Settling for letting her fingers wrap comfortingly around the pistol in her bag, she decided it was safe to approach Smecker and the suited man with him. She needed to make sure she got that glorious day of disarmament. Smiling, she wrapped an arm around Paul in a hug, "Hi, Paul. How are you?"

"All right, Chloe. I'll be a lot better when this is all over."

She could hear the tension in his voice and she felt a little guilty inside because of it. He was worried about her and what she was going to say. The last time she'd had a meeting of any kind about what was going to happen after the trial, she'd blown a gasket. A tirade that had pissed Connor and Murphy written all over it had burst from her mouth. Their intention had been to ship her out into the western United States, Utah specifically, and set her up as four years younger than she was and have her re-take the last two years of an undergraduate degree.

Stripes was sorry, but she was _not_ going to be forced to rewind a few fuckin' years and just push the play button. She'd worked hard to be where she was. No, she'd done more than work. She'd scratched and struggled and fuckin' scraped her way to where she was and she'd done it by her own sleepless nights, hungry weeks, and loneliness.

She'd be damned before she let some immoral, worthless mob boss take it all away from her!

And with a dramatically increased use of the word fuck, that was exactly what she'd told the last agent Smecker had brought her to. She could understand why he was nervous, and part of her felt incredibly guilty because of it. However, that part wasn't big enough to stop her.

"Miss Chloe Sandler, this is Agent John Robins." She continued smiling as the man Smecker introduced extended his hand and she shook it. He was older than Smecker by about ten years with blonde hair that was now mostly grey. Though clearly a personable man, he had the efficient detachment that Paul had most of the time.

"You're a bit late, Miss Sandler," he commented. "A lady's prerogative, of course."

Saying nothing, she gave him a small smile. As the silence stretched a few more rather tense seconds, Smecker motioned for her to come with them. "Try to play nice, Chloe," he pleaded under his breath.

"I'll do my best," she breathed back as they slipped into the waiting black sedan behind her. She was in danger of being killed every day. If they were going to get along, Agent Robins needed to understand that.

"I hope that's good enough. Call them tomorrow night," he quickly muttered.

"So, Miss Sandler, may I ask why you wanted to be picked up in the park?" Robins kept his voice level, but she could hear the curiosity in it.

Shifting a bit so her pistol wasn't digging so deeply into her back, she shrugged, "It was easier to see if you had any mobsters with you. They tend to stand out just about everywhere but in crowds.

The agent physically started at that. "You didn't trust the FBI? You didn't trust us not to bring mobsters of all people?"

Stripes leveled a blank look at him, "Agent, the reason I was taken and tortured by the mob was because a police officer of this fine city gave Papa Joe my name. I don't trust anyone unless they've saved my life. The FBI has never done that before. In fact, the last time I talked to the FBI, they were trying to take my life away." She glanced at Paul to let him know she wasn't including him with the FBI.

"For your protection, of course."

Sighing, she shook her head, "No, this is for my fuckin' protection." Pulling the pistol that was kept in her bag, she laid it in her lap for him to see. As Robins went for his own weapon, she admonished, "Oh, calm down, I'm not going to shoot you. Unless you and the FBI want to follow me around every minute of the day until the trial, which would probably get me killed, then you're not doing anything for my protection. I'm the one keeping me alive. Given that I'm also the one making it possible for you to put Papa Joe behind bars, I'd say you owe _me_ something."

When she looked over, she saw that Smecker looked pained. Taking a deep breath and lowering her voice back down from where it had risen significantly, she started calmly again, "Sir, I promise I'm not asking for much. What I want is probably even cheaper than normal. You don't have to ship me anywhere or check up on me ever again."

At the mention of cheaper, Robins' hesitation and anxiety at her weapon lessened, "I'm listening, Miss Sandler. Would you please put that away, though? I should have you arrested for not having a permit for that."

"I would probably die in jail, sir." She did as he asked and slid the gun back into its pocket. She decided it was probably best not to mention the second one on her person. "Please, all I'm asking for is one new passport with a simple name change, a birth certificate to back it up, and ten thousand dollars so I don't starve on the street. I'll buy my own plane ticket and everything. After I fly away, you'll never have to deal with me again or put a penny into this witness unless you have to."

Robins was quiet, contemplative, for a long moment, looking out the tinted window as they drove aimlessly. Finally when he spoke, his voice was oddly gentle, "What country and why ten thousand?"

"Ireland. As soon as I get the letters of recommendation from a few of my professors, I'm going to enroll in a university in Dublin. The ten thousand is for the plane ticket, the luggage charge I know I'll get, and the first bit of tuition. I'll find a job as soon as I get there. Sir, I can't stay here, but I am not letting this set back my life."

"Why Ireland?"

"My master's degree is going toward Irish history. It's what I do." As he sat there, Stripes couldn't quite let herself begin to hope. She'd done as Smecker asked. For the most part she'd played nicely. She'd only said fuck once and she'd been reasonable. Even so, she hadn't imagined it would be this easy. To be honest, she hadn't thought the FBI would ever even consider what she was demanding. She talked big and yelled, but the whole time she'd been doing it more so she could always tell herself she'd tried…

Robins cracked a bit of a smile then, "What's the name change? It might be a little extra paperwork given its unorthodox, but I can't see the FBI complaining about spending ten thousand dollars instead of over a hundred thousand. For the witness who is giving us Papa Joe after two acquittals, I think we can manage."

Fighting the urge to sob with joy as something finally looked up, Stripes smiled back, "Just make my last name O'Brien. Nobody's going to be able to find one Chloe O'Brien out of all of Ireland."

Robins acknowledged her reasoning with a nod, "I'll get started on this and let you know how things go through Agent Smecker. The district attorney will probably also be getting in touch with you soon."

"They can do that through me, as well, sir. Where would you like to be dropped off, Chloe?"

Glancing out the window, she tried to figure out where they were. Recognizing it, she shrugged, "Here is fine. Thank you for meeting with me, sir." Without another word, she slipped out of the door when the sedan came to a stop at a red light. Jumping through traffic, she made it to the sidewalk and walked on like nothing had happened. Once again she was just a silent face in the crowd.

Robins looked over to Smecker, "In your opinion, should we put an agent on her tail? Make sure she stays out of trouble."

"I'd love to give her extra help, but it may do more harm than good. She's stayed alive so far by keeping a low profile. Her semester is finished, so she doesn't go outside much anymore. Besides, I can't guarantee she wouldn't shoot him if he got too close. She's been through a lot, sir."

"How much?"

Sighing, Smecker counted in his head, "At least four attempts on her life in the last month and a half that she's told me about, not counting the initial incident. She has good reason to be jumpy, sir."

"Fair point. So, how's the Saints case going?"

"Running colder and colder, sir. At this moment, I haven't the faintest idea who it is," Smecker lied shamelessly.

Taking out a cigarette and lighter, Robins nodded as he lit up, "I know it's our job, but on this one, I kind of wish we didn't have to bring them in, you know?"

"I can understand that, sir."

TBS TBS

Stripes all but bounced on the chair by the phone with anticipation. She was going to talk to them! It felt like years and years since she'd had those few minutes on the phone with Murphy that horrible night so many weeks ago. This time she'd have plenty of time and she wouldn't be going through a small mental breakdown with some posttraumatic stress…and Conn would be there.

She was excited.

For those moments on the phone, life was going to make perfect sense again. It always did when they were around in any capacity. She could be herself again. It had been so odd the last few weeks, being angry at FBI agents and making demands. Though her mind had reached that point naturally, it still felt heinously weird once it was over and she got back to normal. Making demands meant also demanding attention. It just felt odd.

However, she had guaranteed herself that day when she could be safe and unarmed at the same time. It was worth the oddity. Plus, it would probably tickle Murphy to no end to discover she'd blown up at someone. And, hearing Conn's voice made everything better.

At exactly nine o'clock she picked up the church's phone and dialed the number.

It rang three times before Doc's voice greeted her, "_H-H-Hello. Fuck! Ass!_"

"Doc, hi. How're you doing?"

"_F-F-Fine, lass. They're not here yet."_

"Oh…"

She immediately felt bad about not being more graceful about getting to talk to Doc, but the smile in his voice told her he understood. "_It's okay, C-C-C-Chloe. Ye wanna talk to yer boyfriend. Fuck! Ass! I'll have them c-c-c-c-c-c-call when they get here, all right?"_

"Okay," she conceded, clutching at the remaining wisps of her good mood. She and talk spoke for a few more minutes before they said goodbye. For a long moment, Stripes could only stare at the lifeless telephone after she set the receiver down and fight not to cry.

The next morning, Father Macklepenny walked into the room to find Stripes fast asleep in her chair, hugging the phone that hadn't rung.

* * *

><p>AN: So, it's been awhile since the boys were around. I've been missing them myself. They'll be back soon. :)


	20. Trials Pt 1

Hello there everyone.

So, I've really actually had kind of a shitty day while writing this and having Florence + the Machine on constant repeat hasn't made me exactly...chipper, so I'm sorry if this chapter is a tad bit...off. I don't know, I just kind of went where my fingers took me. Reading back over it, I was actually a tad bit proud. I don't know.

Anyhow, thanks so much for reading and for leaving your wonderful reviews. I can't thank you all enough, especially you guys who drop me something every chapter. Getting that review alert email just completely makes my day. So, I hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading. :)

* * *

><p>"Paul, I'm fine. I promise." Sighing with enervation, Stripes looked at him pleadingly in answer to his question, "Just let me go home."<p>

"But we're not done," the woman sitting beside her protested petulantly before he could even take a breath to answer, her pen poised to continue writing. "Agent Smecker, I need to remind you that the trial is only two days away. Aside from Miss Sandler, our case rests mostly on circumstantial evidence. If she doesn't come across with something passable, then he is going to be acquitted again."

Angering as the assistant district attorney before her spoke as if she wasn't even in the room or Smecker was her parent and she two years old, Stripes' green eyes widened in complete disbelief. "I was fuckin' there! The man fuckin' kicked my head fuckin' open. He laughed in my face as his fuckin' minion beat me. How can I not be fuckin' passable?"

Smiling slightly as her practiced Irish accent began to come out, Paul put a comforting hand on her arm. He didn't blame her for being tired. She'd run into a Russian problem getting to the district attorney's office that afternoon and the lawyer prepping her for her testimony could be a decidedly more personable, empathetic coach. Stripes had indicated that she needed to leave before it became dark so she could get home with a relative amount of safety, yet it was past nine and the woman seemed to have no intention of stopping any time soon. As the sharp profanity with its distinctly Irish lilt sliced through the room, she gave her first pause.

"Chloe let me drive you home. Miss Saunders, is there anything really imperative you have left to discuss? You've already given us the time."

The woman stared at the two of them for a long moment, mouth open. "But-But you can't leave yet. We haven't gone over everything."

In what Paul had noticed was becoming a disgruntlingly common pattern, Stripes' eyes filled up with tears, her breathing became shallow, and her mood took an abrupt swan dive straight downward. "I lived everything. What more can we have to go over? I lived through it. I felt the pain. I was there for the attempted rape and the bleeding and the hitting and the screaming. What more do you want from me?"

"Consistency," was the lawyer's immediate response.

"I'm not testifying more than once. I only have to tell the truth once."

Quickly diverting the course the situation had begun to take as the lawyer seemed to begin readying to pounce on her witness, Paul helped Stripes to her feet. "Come on, Chloe. I'll take you home."

He tried to keep up something with a semblance of conversation as they walked out of the building and climbed into his waiting car. He wasn't sure if he was ready to call it depression, but Chloe was low and had been for awhile. The first three weeks of June had not been kind to her. With Papa Joe's trial announced to the public and the formal charges all filed, the heat she'd been experiencing before increased dramatically. She hardly went outside anymore without someone popping out of an alley trying to kill her. He couldn't explain why other than she had been made that large of a priority.

She was being hunted.

Escaping all with nothing more than some nasty bruises and two bullet grazes, she'd managed to incapacitate all her attackers, though not all had been put down to never rise again. But, the stress and pain and loneliness were starting to physically wear on her. Since he had known her she had always been on the smaller side of average; however she was beginning to border on scrawny. She was paler than he remembered, especially for it being the latter part of June. Hair still black, she had yet to let the color wash away which made her look paler still.

He'd become worried three weeks ago. He was now past worried. Panic was the new stance he was taking. Stripes needed her family back. Someone in the world needed to be there to love her again.

Pushing his thoughts from his voice, he noted as the church neared, "All your paperwork is through now. Did you get your plane ticket booked yet?"

With effort, she smiled back at him, "Aye. I did that yesterday. I leave that night. I got accepted to my grad school, too. All I had to do was change my last name on a few things." Once upon a time he remembered her answering with more than just the bare minimum, despite her quiet nature.

"Good, good. I'm going to have Greenly come and pick you up on the day of the trial. He'll be there around nine in the morning. Is that all right?" She answered with only a nod. "Don't worry too much about what the lawyers want. All you have to do is tell the truth. There's no way they can ignore your testimony. You were there."

That time her smile resembled her real one, "Thanks, Paul. Hey, you can just let me out here." She nodded outside toward a corner about four blocks from the church.

"I'll walk you the rest of the way." For a moment he thought she was going to protest, but a smile won out.

"Thanks, Paul."

As the car came to a stop and he pulled the keys from the ignition, he watched as she prepared to face the world. Grabbing a scarf from her bag, she pulled it over her hair. He didn't need to ask if it was to ward off the now falling rain or to cover her identity that little bit. She continued by readjusting her plaid bag, ensuring it ran across her body from right shoulder to her left hip. Before she even reached for the door, he watched as her left hand deliberately found its way into the bag's outside pocket. She did not retract it as she stepped out into the rain.

The pair made the four block trek in silence until Stripes broke it at the last alley before her home. "I go in the back way down here."

With a nod Smecker followed, now vaguely comfortable with the fact that they weren't going to run into any trouble. Within the next instant, he regretted it.

Before he even heard the sound above the rain, Stripes was in front of him, instinctively blocking his body from whatever she heard. He had no time to react before her left hand and its gun had risen in front of her and her right had brought the one from the back of her pants equal with it. Her guns were both primed and being held in shaking hands before he'd even gone for his.

Her reflex time had quickened with practice…

Glancing behind her for an instant, ensuring Smecker was all right, Stripes turned her green eyes forward to the darkness. She'd heard something. She knew she had. It was next to where the backdoor was, a light on inside. No one used that backdoor but her. She purposely asked Macklepenny to always keep the light off so it was that much harder to spot, in case those hunting her ever found out where she lived. They'd be more conspicuous coming in the front. The light wasn't supposed to be on. She wasn't supposed to be seeing the faint outline of people in the augmented darkness.

Panic swelled in her heart. What if they'd gotten to Macklepenny?

As the silence deepened with tension, she continued searching, not bothering to try and keep her hands still. Her hands were never steady when she held her guns. Close proximity was what she credited her accuracy to, nothing more. Catching movement in the faint light, she took a step forward, pointing her body in that general direction.

There was nothing for a long, long moment except the erratic beating of her heart. They should've done something by now. They should've introduced themselves mockingly, stepped forward to intimidate her, and then drawn, confident in the fact she would die and they wouldn't. It was taking too long and it was doing nothing for her already stressed body.

Practically growling as she just wanted the anticipation to end, she demanded with a sharply edged voice, "Fuckin' man up and kill me already."

"Fuckin' hell…" one voice uttered quietly with pure bewilderment. She didn't have time to recognize it before a new one began, its tone pained.

"Stripes…?"

Every part of her froze, even her hands still and strong for the first time. Tearing up immediately, her body finally caught up. Before she could take another breath or have another thought pass through her mind, a sob rushed up from her heart through her quivering lips. Clicking on a safety with each thumb, she threw her guns to the ground and sprinted toward the voice and everything that she knew came with it.

"Conn!"

She crashed into him, ignoring the way the impact slammed the breath from her lungs. She was too happy to breathe anyway. Her arms wrapped around his chest, clinging to him, pressing every bit of her into him as close as possible. As the rain poured down around them, she felt him press a lingering kiss to the top of her head after she'd been enveloped in an embrace she'd missed more than she'd ever imagined until she was back in it.

Upturning her face to the rain, she found those gorgeous grey eyes in the darkness. Ignoring all else, everything horrible that had happened to her since they left, she smiled up at him. Despite the conflict she could see staring back at her, he returned the gesture, one corner of his mouth upturning in the adorable way she loved. Allowing her eyes to flutter closed, she reveled as the heat she'd missed returned when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, cradling her face in the truth on his left hand. She could feel remorse in his kiss as much as she did how much he'd missed her. She would convince him he didn't need to be sorry…later. There was just too much words could ruin at that moment and she wasn't about to be the one to do it. If she could even talk with all the emotions swirling about within her…

Again silence reigned as she clung to Conn, body too full of emotion to even sob as she tucked her head beneath his chin. Her heart was suspended in a limbo, too full and too shocked to feel anything than an all-consuming elation.

They were back. He had come back to her. He had come back and still loved her.

Life was perfect again.

"This means he really is the favorite twin, doesn't it."

Murphy's teasing sounded strained, but she smiled anyway from her place inside Conn's coat. He'd gotten a new one it appeared. She reveled in the warmth and the feel of his chest against her cheek. She'd never been in a happier place. Peeking her green eyes out to see Murphy's form, she smiled genuinely, "Ye're too dashing for me, Murph."

He sent a small smile her way, still too perturbed to truly appreciate her humor. She didn't seem to mind, however, as she merely buried her face back into his brother, closing her eyes, her trembling with joy showing no signs of calming down. He caught Conn's gaze above her head. He saw his own emotions in it. They were both in the middle of a battle between unquenchable rage and bewildered anguish.

What in the fuckin' hell could've happened while they were gone, keeping her safe, that had made her react like that? Her words and the sight of both her shaking hands with guns raised bounced painfully around Murphy's skull like they had spikes attached to them. The look of acceptance when she had drawn, demanding they hurry up, was disturbing. It was like she hadn't cared whether she lived at all. She was ready to fight and had accepted either outcome. Neither truly bothered her. What the hell had they done to Stripes? What had them leaving done to her?

He loved Stripes. She was like the sister he'd never had. The last five minutes were wreaking havoc within him. As Conn looked away from him, pressing his face into Stripes' head as tears began to fall from his eyes to her hair, Murphy simply gave him a nod and looked away with no comment. Murphy did not envy his brother the pain he knew he was going through. Da and he were going to have a hell of a time talking him down whenever the three were alone next.

Conn kissed her forehead once more before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her through the backdoor without a word.

Murph and Smecker stood dumbly for a few more moments before the former sighed and stepped forward, "Hi Smecker. How're things?"

The man groaned as he shook Murphy's hand, "Once Connor gets a hold of me, I think they're going to get much worse. I'm glad you three are back, though."

"Aye, why's that?" the younger man asked as he knelt to pick Stripes' guns up out of the puddle she'd thrown them into.

"Well, let's just say I might have made a promise to Chloe to not tell you the whole truth. Let's just say she hasn't been as okay as I might've said."

"Fuckin' sounds like Stripes. Come on, I'm guessing Da will have some questions for ye. Maybe we can find some work since we're back." The pair stepped through the door and out of the rain. They were greeted by a look of surprise on Da's face.

"Lad," Da asked his son with clear concern as Conn still strode silently toward the other side of the church, Stripes curled up in his arms, "why does yer brother look like he wants to kill the closest breathing thing when he just got his lass back?"

Holding her guns out for his father to see, Murph bit out, "I'm guessing because she's been her normal, protective, fuckin' stupid self while we were gone." He turned to Smecker, "How many fuckin' times have they 'gotten close'?"

"Today, this week, or this month?" Smecker replied tiredly. He might as well tell Da and Murphy the true extent of things so he had some allies when Conn decided to kill him. The two McManuses present looked at him with widening eyes.

Collapsing down into the closest pew and resting his head in his hands, he continued, "Just today she had a Russian attack her while coming to her witness prepping. She didn't mention if he's actually dead or not. She never does. She still isn't completely all right with the fact she kills people, I think. She does it because she has to, but she doesn't like it, to say the least. Three weeks ago, all the charges against Papa Joe were filed and the trial date set to be as close as possible. I'd say she's had to kill or be killed every time she's gone outside since. Since you guys left, she's told me about a dozen mobsters who tried to get her. I wouldn't be surprised if that's only half of the actual number. Ask her about Alexi sometime. I don't know what you guys taught her, but it worked. She's one tough, fucking lucky cookie, but…" he paused with another sigh, "You guys couldn't have picked a better time to come back. She was slipping and I didn't know what to do."

Da turned to Murphy and clapped him on the shoulder, anger a strong undercurrent in his always level voice, "Well lad, let's make sure everything's loaded. Business is going to be booming here in a few hours, I'd say. Who do we have to hit, Paul?"

Murphy smirked icily, setting Stripes' guns down and pulling out his own to check the magazines, "The Saints are back in fuckin' town."

TBS TBS

"Yer hair is different," Conn commented quietly as he ran his fingers through the still black but noticeably lighter locks of the woman he held tightly in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist. It suddenly rushed over him once again that he never should have left her. He never should have let her go. He'd never done anything so stupid before in his life, including many drunken escapades. He didn't entirely understand, but he knew that something had gone wrong in the time that he'd left her alone. Shuddering, he tightened his grip and kissed her temple.

Bringing her face out of his neck where she'd been hiding up against the Virgin Mary tattooed into it, Stripes smiled up at him, "I haven't dyed it in awhile. I'm letting the color grow out so I won't be recognized."

She hadn't kept track of how long they'd been sitting in her little room on her bed, but that had been the first words he'd uttered. Aside from the tension in the room, it was just like old times. Except for it, everything was the way it was supposed to be. Stripes wasn't stupid, however. Men may not have been her forte, but Conn she understood. Just like every other man in the world, he really didn't give a shit about her hair aside from noting it was pretty. It certainly wasn't the thing running through his head at that moment, either. Murphy may have been the emotional one, the one that was easy to rile, but Conn was the one that once he was riled, you'd better find a way to let him get it out before it consumed him.

She could practically see the guilt written on his face. Still smiling, she lifted up a hand and ran her fingers down his face, letting her palm come to rest on his cheek. Clearly still pained, his grey eyes found her green ones.

Sighing happily, Stripes leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. Lightly kissing his nose, she whispered, "Ye should yell at me. I promise I'll understand. It'll make ye feel better."

He pulled back, shaking his head without looking at her, trying to hide the stupid fuckin' tears that had risen up yet again, "No it won't, Stripes."

He looked about her little room, everywhere but at her. The room was white, smaller than her old apartment, and had little by way of furniture except for her bed and a crucifix on hanging on the wall. There was a lamp on an end table, but she hadn't made a move to turn it on. The light they had came through the open door, a faintly red tint to it because of the red carpet outside. He noticed nothing that screamed Stripes aside from a small pile of books beside her bed. There was a suitcase thrown open in the corner, clothes spilling out of it slightly. The carpet was…

Stripes moved her head so his eyes, tears and all, couldn't avoid her. Smiling brightly and running her thumb down his cheek, she suggested, "How about kissing me again? Ye should try that. Aye, I think it'd work wonders."

He managed to ignore her attempt at humor. "I'm sorry, Stripes."

"For what?" she queried, forcing him to look at her by holding his face in her hands. "For still being alive? I'm perfectly fine with you being alive, Conn."

Blinking rapidly, he shot her a glare, "That's not what I fuckin' meant, Stripes."

"I know. Hey," she protested with a smile, "ye promised me no crying once upon a time." Though she thought it incredibly sweet, she knew that bringing any more attention to the fact that he was crying over her wasn't fair. He was a guy. He had pride. Wiping the few stray tears away with her thumbs, she continued, "You don't need to be sorry, Conn. I wouldn't have let you stay no matter what you guys did. I've been alone before… It was nothing I couldn't handle."

His grip around her waist tightened and his eyes narrowed, anger beginning to seep out, "Bull fuckin' shit. What the fuck was that outside in the alley? What the fuck are you talking about 'kill me already'?"

Retracting her hands from his face, she began trying to smooth back her damp hair into a ponytail, a nervous tell she'd never been able to get rid of. The way his eyes immediately went to it and his face hardened indicated he'd noticed it, too. Sighing, she spread her hands out on his chest, feeling the warmth through the wet material, "Me dying may have come up a few times since you guys left."

Reversing their roles, Connor was the one to bring his hands to her cheeks and gently force her to look him in the eye. "Just how safe have ye been since we left, Stripes? How much has Smecker been lying?"

"First off, it's not Paul's fault. I…I told him to lie. Don't take anything out on him. He's been doing all he can."

"I know exactly who the fuck to take it out on, love, and they've gonna fuckin' know it real fuckin' soon." Pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her and asked as she laid her head back in the crook of his neck, "How many, Stripes? Three? Four?"

"Twenty-five," she whispered.

She immediately wished she'd lied. Beside her, his entire body tensed for a long second before beginning to shake slightly. It was slight but noticeable, especially as his grip around her waist had to tighten to keep the shaking under control. "Twenty-five," he repeated. Stripes nodded mutely. "Twenty-fuckin'-five!"

"I-I promise it's not as bad as it sounds," she began hesitantly, wanting to save him the trouble of being more worried than he was, angrier than he already was.

Exhaling slowly, he bit out with clearly restrained anger, "It sounds pretty fuckin' bad, love."

Fiddling with the fingers of the hand he had around her shoulders, she asked pleadingly, "Are you sure you don't want to just kiss me?"

Sighing, he smiled a tad bit, "I always want to kiss ye, Stripes. It's just…I feel kinda guilty about it when I'm kissing ye and thinking about all the ways I want to kill twenty-five men all over again, ye know?" As she just smiled back at him, he let out a deep breath, regaining a semblance of calm. He had her; she was safe. He'd be angry soon, not at that moment.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered, "Loving ye is going to be hard, isn't it."

Pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, she nodded, "The best loves always are, right? They're as easy as breathing, but the world is what gets in the way."

"Fuckin' world," he muttered darkly, making her laugh.

Running a hand down his face again, she queried, a real element of doubt in her voice, "We can take it though, right?"

He grinned at her, the old McManus grin she loved so damn much in all its orneriness, "Damn fuckin' right we can."

Without wasting another second, he used the hold he had on her face to close the distance between them. Stripes smiled widely in the few instances she had before his lips crashed onto hers, properly letting her know how much he'd missed her as his hands became lost in her hair.

"Aw, fuckin' really? Ye two can't stay off each other for a few minutes?"

Stripes groaned low in her throat, shooting a glare out of the corner of her eye at the twin standing in the doorway. Just as she got Conn to stop feeling guilty and get back to kissing her, Murphy had to step in and ruin it. Taking one hand and grabbing her pillow, she chucked it in Murphy's direction while using the arm wrapped around Conn's neck to keep him from pulling away. She felt him smile against her lips as he raised a hand and flipped his brother off.

"Well, that's just rude." Smirking to himself, Murphy leaned against the door casing and began inspecting his nails for any dirt, "I'll just wait until ye two are done. I promise I'll be real quiet….Ye won't even know I'm here…Hey Stripes, is that a new shirt?"

"Oh for the love of fuckin' Christ, Murph go the fuck away!"

"Ye are in a church, Chloe! How dare ye say such horrible things?" he demanded in his best scandalized voice. "I can see that ye definitely missed me while I was gone, also."

She let out an irritated growl as she buried her face into Connor's neck. Voice muffled, she bit out, "I love you, Murph. I've never missed anyone more in my life… Go make me a sandwich."

He began laughing in the doorway and exchanged a look with his twin. With a nod from Conn, Murphy grinned widely and sprinted forward, grabbing Stripes about the waist and spinning her around with a screech, "MURPH!"

When he finally put her down, he kissed her temple, "I'm glad we're back, Stripes."

Smiling back up at him, she hugged him tightly, "Me too, Murph. I really did miss ye."

"I know. I missed ye, too." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Conn got up and did the same. She laughed as once again, they simultaneously pressed kisses to her temples. The two brothers exchanged a glance above her head, and as they began walking forward, Murphy continued, "So, Stripes, guess what we get to do now?"

She looked warily up at him, "What…?"

"Ye get to tell us all about yer adventures."

Sighing, she rested her head on Conn's shoulder, "Fuck." Well, there went the whole calm thing she had going…

"Aye. Hey, Murph," Conn began, "ye think we could manage to go kill some bastards tonight."

"I think that's a wonderful idea, dear brother. Let's ask Da."

Stripes sighed again. The calm was gone and it was only going to move farther away. There was nothing she could do now. She didn't have a choice. Her family of Saints was going to avenge her whether she wanted them to or not.

She couldn't help but feel incredibly loved because of it. Tightening her grips around their waists, she smiled, "Thanks guys."


	21. Trials Pt 2

I don't own The Boondock Saints, etc, etc, etc.

* * *

><p>"Telling you all to calm down isn't going to do a damn thing, is it?"<p>

Stripes' words were more of a statement than a question as she looked around the group of McManuses gathered before her. Equally raised eyebrows from the younger two and a level look of anxiety from the older answered her easily enough. Sighing, she leaned back against the pew she'd sat in.

Da, whom she had greeted with a large hug only moments earlier, articulated their thoughts, "No, it isn't lass. We've got a job to do and any fuckin' person who decides to try and kill you is part of our business. Start spilling, Chloe."

"_All_ twenty-five, too, Stripes," Conn added as she went to open her mouth, an incredibly cold, stony dimension to his voice. She recognized it. She'd heard his voice like that twice before: once when Checkov's goon had grabbed her and again when Nicky had been looming over her, about to put a bullet in her brain. It was his scared livid voice.

"That'd be a waste of time," she protested gently, pulling her knees up to her chest and looking up at the three of them standing above her. "Twenty of them are already dead. The other five are amongst Papa Joe's guys somewhere, though three of them won't be paying for any prostitutes any time soon. I'll guarantee their balls aren't up for it."

She played her words off as simple, casual things, but the three of them weren't fooled. Recalling Smecker's words, Murphy glanced to the still present FBI agent and then back at her, "Tell us about Alexi."

Green eyes narrowing immediately, Stripes glared over at Paul, "You _had_ to fucking mention him? Really?"

Suddenly wondering if he wasn't going to get hit by more people than Conn, the man managed to shrug, "They're already back and they're already going to be doing a lot of killing. I wanted to make sure Conn wasn't going to be putting a bullet through my brain because I'd let three Russians almost kill his girl and then lied about it."

Pale and for once unbruised face suddenly becoming a mixture of exhaustion and irritation, she ran a hand back through her hair and stared diligently at her knees, "What exactly do you want to know about Alexi? He's dead. I shot him at point blank range in the back of the head. I watched as his brain matter spattered all across the windshield. What more do you need to know about? His fuckin' zodiac sign?"

"Who were the other two?" Da asked gently, not commenting on the tears now running down her face or the bite in her tone.

"I don't know. One of them was named Viktor. They would've just killed me in my apartment, but he wanted to take me back. They dragged me out a week after you left. I'd been camping out at school the entire week, missing you, and when I came back they jumped me. They'd been watching us for a long time. Alexi was going to kill me right there, but Viktor wanted to take me. I was stuck in the back with Viktor for a few blocks before Alexi decided to finish it. He pulled into an alleyway and…I don't know, I just moved. I got Viktor's gun and shot Alexi and the other guy in the head. The car crashed into a dumpster and I ended up shooting Viktor in the throat. After that I went home and packed everything up. If the Russians knew where I was, then I couldn't stay. I tried to go…home, but I-I couldn't. So I came here. I've been fighting people off ever since."

As Connor's mouth went to open, likely to protest and beg her to say more, she interrupted, "I don't want to explain anything fuckin' else. There's Russians and there's Italians and they try to kill me. None of the extra details are going to make you kill them any extra so why make me say them? I love you for caring, I do, but what's the point? Explaining isn't going to make them less dead so you can kill them for me, no matter how much you want to. Go kill some mobsters because they're bad, because they're evil, not because they tried to kill me."

Silence filled the large sanctuary. Taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes for a long moment, Conn finally knelt down before her, resting one of his hands on her knees. He had to squeeze it a few times before he could speak. "Stripes…I promised you that a certain thing was never going to happen to you ever again. It-It didn't, did it?"

At first she didn't understand, until she remembered that first night they'd stayed with her. When she'd needed it, after breaking down and sobbing, getting snot all over his chest, he'd promised her no one would ever try and rape her again. No man would ever get that close with that bad of intentions. He'd promised, though not in so many words, to protect her.

Bringing her legs down to lay beside her, Stripes promptly placed her hands on either side of his face and silently assured him that it hadn't. No, she hadn't been raped. No, nobody had gotten close enough to try. She didn't say the words but he understood, although the knowledge didn't make the fire in his eyes die any. She got the feeling that whether it had happened or not, he was still angry with himself because he hadn't been there. In a way it was incredibly sweet.

Smiling finally, not realizing that Da had been speaking to her as she just lost herself in Conn's eyes, she whispered, "Conn, ye know I'm not a princess that needs to be saved every other minute right? I've got my ball kicking to keep me safe."

"Aye, ye're my fuckin' princess and any princess of mine is going to have me to do the ball kicking for her. Just because ye don't need it doesn't mean I'm not doing it, love."

Oh yes, _definitely_ incredibly sweet. She couldn't help but smile at the new term of endearment she'd been given. She was also suddenly having trouble breathing the longer she held that grey stare.

Softly punching her shoulder, Murphy commented lightly, "Aye, but ye have gotten kind of bad ass since we left though, Stripes. We should rename ye to fuckin' Xena."

Physically recoiling, she glared menacingly at him, "Call me that again and I'll start practicing my ball kicking skills, Murph."

"Ye love me too much, Stripes."

Her glare didn't waver, "Don't fuckin' test me." As he continued to merely grin at her, her face morphed into the tired but happy ball of emotions she'd become. She'd been so used to just switching between scared to death and absolute nothingness that all this happiness was tiring her out. Covering a yawn, she looked up, "Did you guys pick up my guns?"

"Aye." Da reached into his jacket and produced her two pistols, holding them out for her to see with an air of hesitance given how much she'd hated even looking at them the last time they were around. He hadn't seen her in the alley. "What are ye going to do with them, lass?" Da queried warily, not about to even entertain the idea of her coming with them.

"Sleep, Da. I can't without them." She'd tried, but when the two weapons had been stored on the bedside table, she'd only spent the entire night staring at them. The moment they went under her pillow she'd fallen asleep. She'd cringed at her new reality in the morning.

Trying to not dwell on that truth, which would only make them angrier, she quickly leaned down and kissed Connor deeply on the mouth. Then standing, she gave Murphy, Smecker, and Da all hugs before taking her guns. Each hand closed around the grip with a practiced air, despite the trembling that immediately followed, and her thumbs unconsciously checked the safeties. Yawning fully this time, she gave them a real smile, "Good night, be good, don't get hurt. I just got you back, don't do anything silly. I'll grab stuff for you to sleep on when you come back. I love you."

Where there should have been an irritated 'Aye Ma' from at least Murphy, there was silence. Yawning again, Stripes turned and padded down the aisle. The guns held at her sides seemed like the most natural thing in the world to her. The shaking was the only sign of how uncomfortable she was.

The three McManuses stared after her, the anger they'd done a decent job at restraining blooming dangerously. Snorting bitterly, Smecker commented, "I told you she's different."

Grabbing the agent by his lapels, Connor hauled him to his feet and snapped lividly, punctuating each word with a shake, "She shouldn't have to be fuckin' different. She shouldn't have to be fuckin' strong. She shouldn't _fuckin'_ have to! Ye were supposed to take care of her!"

"Conn, let the nice man go," Murph said quietly, laying a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. Smecker hadn't made a move or sound.

Despite wanting nothing more than to just lash out at fucking _anyone, _Conn growled angrily before shoving the man back down onto the pew and taking a step away, "Smecker, where the fuck are they? I need to fuckin' shoot someone."

Murphy and he exchanged a look and identically deadly smirks appeared on the twins' faces. "Aye, Smecker. Give us something good. Papa Joe needs to know we're back."

Da inclined his head in agreement, looking to Smecker, "Any ideas, Paul?"

Fairly recovered now that his personal space was back, Smecker took a few moments to think and pull out a pen and paper. "Yeah, I know of some people."

He began shifting through the information in his brain, trying to think of who would make them feel better, who would've been the most connected with Chloe's brushes with death, which target would do the most good to be rid of. He could come up with a few guys, a bit lower on the food chain, who he knew had the job of sending minions out on hits. However, even as he wrote them and their suspected addresses down and handed the list to Da, his train of thought always ended up stopping in the same station.

"Papa Joe's trial is the day after tomorrow," he blurted out suddenly, despite knowing that he'd already given them that date.

The Irishmen paused where the three were all readying and rechecking their guns, clearly anxious to get started. "Aye," was Da's reply, his voice calm despite the tension. "Fuck, ye're right."

He and Smecker made eye contact, both coming to the same conclusion.

Nodding slowly once again, part of the FBI agent couldn't believe the next words that came out of his mouth, "I can get you in. He'll never fucking hurt anyone again, least of all Chloe."

"Can ye come back here tomorrow, Paul?" Da asked, cogs in his head already whirling at full tilt.

"I'll be here at noon. Good night." Smecker turned to leave before he could change his mind, trying to come to grips with what he'd just suggested. Helping the McManuses out with cleaning up the streets was one thing. That's exactly where they were, the streets. He'd just said he could get them into the courthouse, into a trial, into the heart of the justice system… He knew he'd rather help them in, help them kill Papa Joe, than even allow the legal system the slightest chance to fuck it up and let him walk.

Perhaps what bothered him was that he'd lost faith in the system.

Either way, he'd made his decision. As he exited the church and made his way through the rain, Agent Smecker began weighing the possibilities. They could do this. Vigilante or not, Papa Joe deserved what was coming through courtroom doors fully armed to him.

TBS TBS

Conn was unable to get the smug sense of satisfaction out of his brain as he shut the dead Italian's eyes for the last time. He'd hit twenty-four. While he still hated himself for leaving Stripes, allowing her to get hurt, his anger had been lifting the slightest bit with every kill that brought him closer to twenty-five. There was an odd sort of balance to it that he couldn't explain but just made him feel a little better with the world he'd left her in by herself. Feeling the emptiness of his pocket, he swore.

"Fuck. Murph, I'm out of pennies."

Not looking up from the dead man he was knelt over, Murphy reached down into his pocket and grabbed the few remaining he had and passed them to his brother. "Here, this is all I have left. Da, do you have any?"

"No, lad. I'm out of bullets, too. Hand me a magazine, please, Murph." The older McManus nodded toward the duffle bag they'd brought with them.

"Aye, I need one, too." Connor's voice was still hard, still angry. Neither Murphy nor Da had mentioned it or told him to calm down. Why should they tell him to calm down when they sure as fuck weren't calm? "How many places are left, Da?"

"Two."

He didn't care if he had to walk in and hit people over the head with his fucking shoe, he wasn't fucking done. They'd cleared out five mob houses that night alone. He just wasn't quite done yet. Though he knew it wasn't going to work entirely, he wanted to get as much of his anger out of his system before he went back to her. She needed him to love her, not be angry at what she'd gone through.

But, the fucking bastards had tried to fucking kill her. They'd scared her to death. They'd made her world scary and unsafe. They'd forced her to change. He couldn't exactly explain it, because in lots of ways she was the same Stripes. She just wasn't as…hopeful, optimistic. He hadn't been able to protect her. He was so fucking mad at himself that he wasn't going to be done until he stared down at Papa Joe's dead fucking corpse. It was oddly comforting to know that Murphy and Da felt the same way.

God had given her to them, to him. He couldn't condemn Conn for punishing the evil assholes who'd tried to take her away from him permanently. God wouldn't do that.

The glaringly loud click of the doorknob of the sumptuous mob apartment made the three men freeze and Conn's thoughts of revenge retreat into the background for that moment. The only one with a gun with bullets, Murphy had just enough time to get a handle on his guns and kick the duffle bag toward his brother before the door swung open.

Heavily drunken laughter greeted them but almost immediately cut off. For a single moment, everything was still. Murphy's guns were aimed at the three Italians and the three Italians merely stared at their dead comrades on the floor.

"The fuck…?"

The tallest of the three was immediately silenced when he was the first to break the quiet, one of Murphy's bullets slicing right through his skull. The other two returned fire, though were quickly on the ground within seconds, adding more blood to the carpet.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Conn had to crack a small smile as he and Da stepped forward to drag the bodies completely inside, "Fuck Murph, ye're getting slow.

Glaring, the darker-haired twin retorted, "Fuck ye." Groaning, he holstered one of his guns before shrugging off his coat. "Fuck, Stripes is going to fuckin' kill me."

Da and Conn both looked back to see him holding a hand to his shoulder where blood was blossoming up through his shirt. "Da," Conn stated, suddenly much more like his normal, non-vengeance driven self, "can we save those two places for tomorrow?"

"Aye."

TBS TBS

Crucifixion had to be painful.

The thought suddenly occurred to Stripes as she sat upside down in the front row's pew. She's been absently not seeing the words on page 2 of her book on the Viking invasions of Ireland for the last four hours. Jesus in the throes of death was filling her out-of-focus line of sight at that moment.

She was worse than she remembered.

At least the last time the McManuses had been with her, she'd been able to do things when they weren't around. Of course, there had always been one of them still with her. Despite the fact she knew they'd had plenty of business in New York to take care of, it was suddenly different now that they were back with her. All she could think of were the numerous mobsters she'd encountered, all the ways their colleagues could be better shots and better killers.

She had managed to sleep for a little bit after she'd left them in the sanctuary and retreated to her room. A small, apparently delusional part of her had hoped they would decide to just let it go and stay with her. The rest of her didn't spend the energy wishing something impossible would happen. There was no way in hell that those three wouldn't have killed scores of evil mobsters.

They would have when they returned anyway. Her unfortunate experiences had only pissed Connor off to the point of insanity and provided some extra motivation. Who was that little part of her kidding?

And so, when she'd awoken and found the church its normal dim and quiet, she'd been unable to fall back asleep. After slipping into her polar bear pajamas, she'd folded already folded laundry. She'd gotten out as many blankets and pillows as she could find for them to use. She'd reorganized her books. She'd remade her bed…twice. She'd even baked a batch of really very pathetic cookies that she'd immediately thrown away.

Sighing as she just let the unread book fall to the floor, Stripes looked up at Jesus and said quietly, "Okay, given that I've been vacuuming Your floors, I propose a trade. I continue vacuuming and You keep them safe. Deal?"

"Ye know that talking to yerself is a sign ye're crazy, Chloe."

Swinging her feet down and rolling to the floor, she popped up quickly with a smile, "Only if ye answer yerself, Murph."

Her smile remained on her face for all of a few seconds. She could clearly see the blood on both his hands and his shoulder. Her stomach turned. They watched as she physically swallowed down her worry and forced on a smile as she raised an eyebrow at Murphy, "Ye had to get yerself shot? Is it bad or just a graze?"

He grinned, "Ye're one to talk, Stripes. And it's not bad, I promise. Would I do that to you?"

Taking his good arm and leading him forward, she smiled with relief, "Yes, you would just to annoy me. Come on, I'll fix it." Glaring at the three of them, she added decisively over her shoulder, "No irons needed."

Da and Conn trialing closely behind, she took Murphy around to the back of the church, down the hall from her little room. "Once," she explained, "the priest actually lived in the church, back before they built the rectory. That priest wanted a nice bathroom. So, thankfully, I don't have to bug Macklepenny every time I need a shower. They help when I come home after being shot at."

The four of them entered the bathroom, crowding the space a bit. Pushing him down onto the toilet, Stripes ordered, "Sit." Murphy did so without complaint, merely muttering "Aye Ma" as she turned and began rummaging through the medicine cabinet. She came up with some antiseptic wipes, a towel, and a bottle of superglue that had something that looked mysteriously like blood on it.

After helping Murphy get his gray t-shirt off, she started wiping down the wound. It was a fairly clean graze. There was more blood than injury. Her two had been worse, truth be told. She wouldn't need the superglue to keep the skin together like she'd expected. "So, how was New York? Did you pull a me and hardly function because you missed me so much?" she queried with a smile to distract herself from all the blood on her hands.

"We missed ye, lass," Da assured.

Shrugging, Murph answered when Conn continued to look to pensive to do it himself, "It wasn't the same. The food sucked.

She laughed and kissed the top of his head affectionately, "I see why you missed me. You just missed my cooking! You know, I tried to make you guys more cookies tonight, but they were fuckin' terrible. I had to throw them out."

"Ye threw _away_ my cookies? Stripes, ye're fuckin' cruel." She just grinned at him. Glancing over his shoulder, he added, "And aye, Conn missed ye so damn much he hardly functioned. He was a fuckin' pain in the ass, moping around, talking about ye all the fuckin' time, muttering yer name in his sleep and shit. He couldn't even get fuckin' drunk properly. He wasn't any fuckin' fun."

"Fuck Murph, make me sound fuckin' pathetic, why don't ye," Conn protested, punching his brother's good arm. He tried to fight the blush in his cheeks until he saw the smile light up Stripes' face.

"Hey, don't fuckin' hit me. I just did ye a favor. Girls love that pathetic stuff," Murphy teased. "She'll probably even start up her plot to get ye in bed again."

"MURPH!" Stripes exclaimed, no longer leaving Conn the only one in that little bathroom blushing. Despite her embarrassment, Da's loud chuckling, and the smack she sent to the back of Murphy's head, she couldn't help but be happy. This was the family she loved.

"For Christ's sake, why the fuck are the two of ye always fuckin' hitting me? I'm fuckin' injured here."

"Because what's injured isn't your mouth, Murph," Stripes answered with a grin. Pressing the final piece of tape over his bandage, she retracted her hands, "Your shoulder's finished."

His son's injury reminding him of some of hers, Da questioned as Murphy rose, "How's yer neck doing, lass?"

"Oh, it's healed." She pulled her black hair back to reveal the raised, stark white and purple line just below her ear. "I don't even really feel it anymore. I don't feel any of that stuff anymore. My shoulder's back to normal, too. So is my rib." Putting on a smile, she laughed, "I feel like an old soldier when it's about to storm, though. I get sore everywhere."

Silence fell as she went about cleaning up the used, bloody wipes and bandages. Her deftness with the things took the men aback. She hated blood. With Conn, she'd barely been able to stay in the room until holding him had outweighed her dislike. When did she get so good at wounds and bandages and blood?

Exchanging a look with Murphy, Conn sighed to himself. When they were fuckin' gone. When else?

Turning to the three of them, Stripes explained, "I'm going to clean up my hands, take a shower. I left pillows and blankets and stuff on my bed. Feel free to sleep wherever." Smiling, she added, "I don't recommend the pews, though. I found out the hard way they're not that comfortable. And yes, Murph, you can have my bed if you want it. I'm just going to stay awake."

The dark-haired twin grinned at her before stepping forward and hugging her tightly, "I love ye, Stripes."

Tearing up, she hugged him back, "I love you, too, Murph. Sleep tight." He kissed the top of her head before nodding and leaving the bathroom. Smiling at the two's antics, Da shook his head and kissed her forehead in a good night. Conn reluctantly followed them out of the room, giving her a small smile.

She closed the door behind them. For a short moment, the three McManuses stood there, staring at the door. After a few moments, Murphy and Da turned to walk down the hall to her room, to get some much-needed sleep as she had suggested. Murph looked back, ready to tell Conn to hurry his ass up, but a smiling Da shook his head. "Leave him be, lad. He has to forgive himself."

TBS TBS

Connor felt like a creeper. He was standing outside a bathroom door, staring at it forlornly, thinking about the showering woman inside. He'd done less creepy things before.

He hadn't really noticed when his brother and father had left him standing there, staring at the wooden barrier. It could be hours for all he knew. Stripes did tend to take long showers if he remembered correctly, if she hadn't changed…

Sighing angrily to himself, he began pacing in short strides, one step toward the door, turn and one step away. He was driving himself crazy with wondering. Was she really not mad at him? Was she really all right? How much had they hurt her? What new scars had she acquired?

He hadn't seen her in almost two months. He knew that their time apart was longer than the time they'd been together, but he'd missed her so fuckin' much he almost couldn't stand it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.

Goddammit, he was a fuckin' mess! How did Stripes always manage to do that to him?

Before his brain could come up with any more horror stories for her to have gone through or his heart to make him hate himself more, he just opened the damn door. Connor froze.

He hadn't expected the shower curtain to be clear…

The guilty part of himself took a quick inventory of her injuries. He couldn't see any new ones aside from a large scabbed area on her upper thigh. There were new scars on the opposite leg and her upper side, but that was it. Murph was right; she had gotten badass. They hadn't managed to really touch her. Her hurts were the mental kind that would be healed up the more he told her how much he loved her and was never fucking leaving her again. She needed him to love her; he'd avenged her enough.

Of course, that guilty part had a hell of a time trying to get that point across as the rest of his brain shut down, unable to do anything but stare. He'd seen women naked before, but Stripes was just different. He couldn't take his eyes off how fuckin' beautiful she was.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ…"

In the past two months, Stripes had discovered that there was nothing more soothing than a shower. Simple it might be, but she was never going to take the daily ritual for granted ever again. She wasn't sure why, but something about being in that little cocoon of the shower, shut off from the rest of the world and surrounded by warm water and her gloriously good smelling shampoo, she just felt clean. It didn't matter how or where the blood got onto her, a shower always took it off.

She had her face upturned to the stream of hot water, rinsing the conditioner from her hair when she heard it. She stiffened for the instant her instincts took to debate what to do. As it had the habit of doing, her body moved before her conscious brain caught up. Pulling back the shower curtain, she raised her pistol in her left hand and hurled the shampoo bottle in her right.

"OW! Fuck, Stripes…"

The lime green bottle connected painfully with Connor's head. Snapping out of her survival mode, Stripes tossed the weapon to the floor after putting on the safety as if it had bitten her. That was the second time in a matter of hours she'd pointed a gun at Connor. Worry overtaking every other thought, she covered her mouth with her hands, "Conn, are you okay? I'm so sorry!"

At his rather pained nod, she let out a sigh of relief, stepping back and leaning against the wall of the shower.

"Ye really don't go anywhere without them anymore, do ye? Where the fuck did ye have that thing hidden earlier?" She just shook her head, eyes closed and taking deep calming breaths. Wondering when she was going to notice her lack of clothing, he couldn't help the ornery smile that appeared.

Smoothing her wet hair back, Stripes laughed lightly, "In the back of my pajama pants." At the mention of clothes, she finally noticed. Snapping her eyes open, she squeaked in mortification as she snatched her towel down from the curtain rod and wrapped it around herself, holding it together behind her back with one arm.

"Conn, I-I-I'm fuckin' naked here!"

His awed gaze moved upward and met her eyes and his smile only grew. "Aye."

She was incredibly cute when she swore like them and when she was embarrassed. As she blushed a brighter red than he'd ever seen before and diligently avoided his gaze, he crossed the small space in a matter of steps. He took her face in his hands.

"And ye're fuckin' beautiful, Stripes."

Her green eyes flitted up to find his instead of his black t-shirt from before. An adorably shy smile and hopeful look in her eyes greeted him, just like the old Stripes'. For the first time, he realized that perhaps the hope he thought she'd lost came from him. Maybe the love of Connor McManus—Saint, killer, and complete fuckin' pushover when she was involved—was what had made her optimistic. That was what she did for him.

He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks a few times before leaning down and kissing her gently, "Ye're so fuckin' beautiful."

Calling on every ounce of Irishman decency his Ma had pounded into his head for his entire life, Conn turned to leave and give her privacy back. He'd been mean enough, purposely being around to embarrass her. He made it two steps before a smaller, wet hand grabbed his elbow and gently pulled him back.

Stripes had no idea what she was doing. However, blissfully ignoring any misgivings her shyness may have once bombarded her with, she let her thoughts drown in the love being given to her. Conn had missed her; he thought she was beautiful; he loved her so much she could see it on his face and in his smile every time he looked at her.

"I love you, Conn."

Smiling at the cute look of surprise on his face, she pushed herself up onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his. It took him a few moments to kiss back, surprise pervading his thoughts. Hadn't she just been embarrassed a few seconds ago? But he felt her smile when he got over it and lost one of his hands in her wet hair and hugged her to him with the other.

As Stripes continued to kiss him with abandon, for the first time in their relationship not worrying about anything and running her one free hand over every bit of his skin she could find, the guilty, sensible part of Connor's mind got smaller and smaller. When she stepped daintily forward over the edge of the shower and pressed fully against him as she rocked up onto her tiptoes, he felt it disappear almost completely.

"Stripes…?" Conn breathed out heavily as he pulled away and rested his forehead on hers, accent thicker than she'd ever heard it before, "Stripes, love…what're ye doin'?"

She didn't answer, merely glanced hesitantly between his gray eyes and his lips and back again. Seeing those eyes staring lovingly, rather lustfully back, she melted completely. Kissing him quickly, she smiled, "Apologizing for hitting you with my shampoo."

Connor grinned back before wrapping both arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him again. "I love ye, too, Stripes…so fuckin' much…"

As he stared down at her again, the throbbing ball of need that had taken up residence in her stomach overtook any thinking her brain was doing. Forgetting all about the towel she was holding, she brought both hands forward and pushed his t-shirt up and over his head. The two garments fell to the ground with understated thuds..

Standing there, staring shamelessly, Conn couldn't take his eyes off her as she fidgeted under his gaze. Pressing their foreheads together as he ran his hands up and down her bare sides, he smiled before kissing her again, "Stripes, we should go somewhere else..."

"Murph's in my bed, Conn."

He groaned, lost for words for a few moments as she began to shyly kiss his neck and her hands roamed their way across his chest. "Fuckin' Murph."

"Of the three of us, I'd say I'm the one _not _fuckin', Conn."

The two of them swung their heads toward the door to see Murphy standing in the doorway, eyes firmly closed. He looked halfway between traumatized and amused. Squeaking in surprise, Stripes knelt and snatched her soaked towel off the floor. When she had it wrapped around herself, Conn hugged her to him, giving his brother decidedly less to see. Blushing brightly, she exclaimed without much venom, "What is it with the two of you and breaking into my bathroom when I'm in the shower?"

Grinning, Murphy commented, "Ye weren't in the shower when I walked in, Stripes. I think my brother was closer to being in ye."

"MURPH!" Stripes grabbed the closest object, which happened to be a box of Kleenex, and hurled it at the dark-haired twin. It hit him in the chest.

"Ow! What the fuckin' hell?"

Breaking in before Stripes could shout back, Conn demanded, "Murph, will ye get the fuck out?"

"Aye, I would, but I need a shower. As long as ye two haven't used all the fuckin' hot water, I'm going to take one. Da's sleeping in the basement, by the way. No one's in yer room, Chloe. Ye two can stop cursing my name."

Breaking away from Connor's embrace, Stripes began hastily, haphazardly pulling on her pajamas, muttering as she did, "Murph, the next time you have a girlfriend, I'm going to purposely do this to you."

"Aye!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air despite his still closed eyes. "Three's a fuckin' party."

"MURPH!"

"Ye love me, Stripes. So do ye, Conn."

Conn punched him in the arm as Stripes practically ran from the room. Laughing lightly, he shook his head, "Ye fuckin' suck, Murph."

Opening his eyes, Murphy just grinned, "Ye have a good night, Conn."

* * *

><p>AN: Hello there everyone,

I apologize for the wait. Making Baconators is not conducive to writing time. Also, I've had writer's block from hell this whole last week. For the last three pages of this chapter I've been writing two sentences, reading them and then deleting them almost immediately. As you can probably tell, my citrus skills are kinda...well, nonexistent up until this point. This is the first time I've tried it in really any capacity and half the time I think I sound like a twelve-year-old (which sucks given that I'm actually engaged and college age. Grrr!)

Anywho, any comments or advice you can throw my way\ in a review or a PM or whatever would be glorious, even if it's just to say it sucks. I'm up for any editing and whatnot needed and hopefully the next chapter won't be so frustrating that I'm thinking things up as I do dishes at work.

Also, I don't know exactly what alerts and whatnot got sent, but I updated the prologue a tad bit to make it coincide with where the story went.

So, I apologize for the terribly long author's note. Thanks so much for all your input this far! I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. :)


	22. Sacred

Though he was only seconds behind her, Conn found Stripes already sitting cross-legged on her bed with the light on and a towel wrapped around her hair, seemingly highly engrossed in the book in her lap. For a few moments, he leaned against the door casing, watching as she fought not to look up and give away her mock concentration. It took a few minutes, but her curiosity got the better of her. She looked up only to find him grinning at her.

Blushing immediately, she looked down again and snatched the towel from her still wet hair. He saw the smile light up her face, though.

Closing the door, Conn walked over and flopped down beside her, slipping off his boots and socks and tossing the shirt he hadn't bothered to put back on next to them. He'd slept beside her without a shirt for the entire week they'd lived with her. She'd never minded before. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her down to lay next to him and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry about Murph."

Laughing lightly, she shrugged as she snuggled into his side, "It's Murph. He's fuckin' ornery half the time and a sweetheart the rest. It's why I love him. So," she began, turning her head to look at him, "how was New York? I didn't really find out earlier before trying to jump you. By the way, I-I'm sorry about that—"

Conn cut her abruptly off, "Stripes, stop." Squeezing her waist, he kissed her again. He pulled away with a grin as her eyes fluttered lazily open, "Ye can't apologize. Ye're hurtin' my fuckin' pride here.

Smiling, she smacked his stomach, "Hey, too shy to talk to men, never really had a boyfriend before, remember? Get with the program, Connor." Rolling over until she was lying on his chest, resting her elbows lightly on his shoulders, she added quietly, "You didn't exactly pick the most experienced woman in the world..."

"Hey, love, trust me. I don't fuckin' care if ye've never held any other guy's fuckin' hand as long as ye're holdin' mine." Proving his point, he grabbed one of her hands, pressing a kiss to her palm.

While she had remained joking, he knew her well enough not to miss the self-doubt. Specifically, he couldn't say what she doubted her experience with. Given it was Stripes and she was shy about everything, it could be anything from a simple kiss to all out sex. He, Murph, and Da hadn't exactly asked about her virginity or anything. At the mere thought, he could imagine their Ma smacking them all about the sides of the head. There were some things a woman was allowed to keep secret.

He let her sit in the silence she wanted as she just stared down at him, smiling slightly. She needed to just hide in the quiet until she was ready. He was in no hurry, loving the warm, comforting, rather dizzying feel of her on top of him as he absently drew patterns on her back. He was happy she hadn't decided to hide from him, as well. Usually she refused to look at them when she was like this; this time those green eyes weren't straying in the slightest.

Tilting her head to the side, she finally asked in a whisper, "You promise?"

He nodded, "Aye. Oh, and ye realize yer shirt is on backwards, right?"

Squeaking again, she admonished his bright grin, "Conn!"

He groaned at the loss of warmth and weight as she pushed herself up and scooted back against the wall. Diligently not looking at him, she pulled the tank top over her head and, smirking to herself, took her time tugging it back on the correct way. When she was fully clothed again, she snuck a look at Conn out of the corner of her eye. He seemed infinitely comfortable just lying there, watching her with a grin on his face.

It made her melt. Everything about him did. How much he loved her. How he didn't mind she was irrationally shy. How it never failed that after a while with him she wasn't shy anymore, too happy to worry. How he made her laugh. How he smiled. How he kissed her. How looking at those grey eyes made her insides twist up with happiness. How she never wanted anything but to be with him all the time.

Her brain, her heart, and that warm tangle of nerves in her stomach that hadn't gone away were all arguing with one another, jumbling up her thoughts into a giant mess: What had she been thinking? _Had _she been thinking? Who fuckin' cared? She'd done nothing wrong. Why wasn't she mortified still? Did it really matter?

Through it all, one knowledge overwhelmed all else: she loved Conn, Conn loved her.

Life was fuckin' glorious.

Suddenly, she couldn't help but smile. Her whole fuckin' life, she'd worried and overanalyzed everything, the people and the consequences always scarier than she could handle. Then, through the least thought through, least planned circumstances, she'd found Connor and Murphy and the roller coaster that was the last three months had started up. She'd never been happier than with them. God save her, she was actually happy.

Smile widening, she snatched up the hand Conn was running up and down her leg. Running her thumb over the letters on his left index finger, she asked, "What's it mean? I know it's Latin, but I've never asked." When he was silent for a moment, she looked up at him expectantly.

Chuckling, he shook his head, wondering how they'd gone from her embarrassed even looking at him to where they were. Stripes was never boring. "Ye're incredibly cute; I hope ye know that. It means truth. Murphy's means justice."

"Well that answers a lingering question I had about a Harry Potter potion…"

"Love, ye're such a nerd."

Grinning, she raised an eyebrow at him, "Says the man who is fluent in seven languages and speaks with a universally accepted sexy accent."

"It's because ye think I'm hot."

"Very true. Speaking of…" Letting go of his hand, she leaned across him, reaching for something under her pillow. She grabbed the pistol she'd left under there earlier, explaining as she stretched to place it on the nightstand, "If Murphy walks in on us one more time tonight, I'm going to be tempted to fuckin' shoot him. No matter how much I love him…"

Grinning, Conn grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back to him. "What exactly is he walkin' in on, Stripes?"

"None of his goddamn business."

Before he could manage a response, she leaned down and kissed him, smiling into it as his arms tightened about her. Come hell, high water, or a death wish-seeking Murphy, nothing and no one was going to make her roll over and hide.

* * *

><p>For not being able to properly string two conscious thoughts together, I had never felt so confident about something I'd never done before. Every fear I'd ever had disappeared while lying there with Conn, knowing more than anything how much he loved me. I had no doubts. I didn't want to stop, didn't want to go back. The throbbing in my stomach wanted it to be him.<p>

My heart _needed_ it to be him.

My brain turned to mush and my stomach blew up in tingles the longer he kissed me. Slowly, his hands began ghosting their way up my sides, adding my erratic heart rate to the list of things he'd thrown out of whack. They continued up until he was cradling my neck and it was then that he pulled away. Breathing raggedly as my eyes fluttered open, I saw him staring up at me, the hungry look I'd noticed before back with a vengeance. It softened a bit, however, as his thumb found the scar behind my ear. He stroked it a few times, catching his own breath with a pensive look in his eyes.

Smiling, I whispered, "If you apologize, I'm leaving right now." It was a blatant lie. I couldn't have fuckin' walked if I needed to, but it made him smile.

"Ye've been around Murph too fuckin' much. Ye're fuckin' ornery."

I couldn't get a retort thought of before he'd pulled me back to him, kissing me so intensely I was drowning. I couldn't catch my breath or keep my eyes open. I couldn't make my hands stop wandering all over his muscled chest, my fingers fiddling with his rosary. I couldn't stop the myriad of happy noises escaping my throat. I couldn't make the burning below my stomach stop exploding to the point I was trembling, making me wonder if I'd somehow skipped a step.

It was glorious.

Not taking any instructions from my nonfunctioning brain, my hands wouldn't keep still as his became lost in my hair, never breaking the space between us. Eventually, one of them went down farther than before.

Moaning against my lips, his head fell back against the pillow, "Stripes…ye really shouldn't be doin' that, love…"

I didn't care if I shouldn't. Anything was worth it to hear his voice like that, low and husky and so very Irish. He leaned up to kiss me again. Pecking him on the lips quickly, I sat up, straddling his stomach. Without breaking eye contact with those gorgeous grey eyes, I reached down to the bottom hem of my pajama shirt and quickly pulled it over my head, throwing it across the room so I couldn't even think of trying to get it back.

Conn stared up at me, hardly even blinking as his breathing sped up and eyes darkened. If there was ever a time to be embarrassed, it was in that moment. But, I didn't as I sat there smiling. There was too much love and care and need staring back up at me.

No, I felt…sacred.

He just looked at me for a long time, his thumbs rubbing slow, agonizingly gentle circles into my hipbones until they made my eyes flutter and my head tilt back in pleasure. Not looking away, he slowly reached up and pulled his rosary over his head, absently laying it on the nightstand with my gun. As his hand came back and hovered right below my naked chest, I saw his self-control vanish.

Voice holding what I could only call awe, he murmured to the air, "Ye're so fuckin' beautiful…"

Arms wrapped around me once again, Conn flipped us over, kissing away whatever strands of thought I had left. Moaning at the feel of him on top of me, I began tugging at his jeans, verbally cursing the damn things for not coming off. Pulling away with a smile, he reached down and did what my fumbling, impatient hands couldn't. Holding me tightly the whole time, my polar bears and then underwear found themselves tossed to the floor seconds later.

Conn smirked at me before leaning down to kiss my neck as he brought the hand he wasn't holding himself up with slowly up my side, tracing every curve I had at leisure, making me lose my mind. His lips slid down my neck to my collarbone and beyond, intoxicatingly leaving evidence for Murphy to mock me with later. When he finally reached the pathetic curves I called B cups from both directions, I whimpered beneath him, clutching my hold around his waist. They apparently were good for something or, at least, he knew _exactly_ how to make them good for something.

Never wanting to resurface to feel anything but the bliss I was submerged in, I dived headfirst into a long, beautiful haze of hands, lips, and so, _so_ much Connor that I couldn't breathe. I felt his four words from my curling toes up to my closed green eyes to the fingertips I was clutching his back with as he whispered breathlessly, "I love ye, Chloe."

My arms wrapped tightly around him and his lips on mine, I held on for dear life as my world exploded around us.

* * *

><p>Why in the name of Christ was something poking her nose?<p>

Not at all ready to wake up yet, Stripes groaned as the poking continued and she felt the sunshine coming through the window. She just wanted to lie in bed some more, hide in Conn's arms for a while longer. "Murph, if that's ye, I'm going to fuckin' hurt ye."

She heard him snort in amusement, "I take it the afterglow's worn off."

Blinking her eyes open and noticing that she was pleasantly sore, she smiled, "Murph, if it had, I would've shot ye and then spoken."

"Love, ye can't shoot him," came Conn's deeply-accented morning voice. "Ye moved yer gun, remember?"

Noting Murph's grin, she merely rolled over, turning her back to him and curling into Conn. "Connor," she mumbled, "make yer brother go away."

Apparently more awake than her, Conn chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter about her, "I'd have to get out of bed to do that, love."

"Fuck…" Seeing Conn grinning down at her, she smiled back, forgetting about Murphy, "Good morning."

"Aye, it was." He leaned down and kissed her as a faint blush rose in her cheeks. However, this time she knew it wasn't from shyness, but from some _very_ good memories. When he pulled away, kissing the end of her nose, he commented, "Ye know, this is a first for me. I've never made love to my girl in a church before."

"Well, then it was a first time for both of us." Any doubt she had about telling him vanished at the love in his smile. Yawning a final time, she reached up and tried to tame the giant mess her black hair had become. Taking notice of the adorable pest looking at them with a mixture of amusement and surprise on his face, she asked "Murph, could you please grab me a shirt?"

Beginning to laugh, he grabbed Conn's t-shirt off the floor and tossed it to her, "So, why haven't ye physically maimed me yet?"

Shrugging as she motioned with a finger for him to turn around, she explained as she pulled the shirt on, "Well, you've already seen Conn naked and you had to have seen something of me last night. If ye start being ornery and making fun of me—you know being yerself—I'll just tell ye the hard truth, no pun intended, that, sweetie, Conn's the older twin."

"HEY!" he protested, but she cut him off as she pulled on her underwear and Connor dissolved into hysterical laughter.

"Murph, that's what ye get for ruining my romantic morning after."

"Stripes, have I mentioned that I love ye?" Conn queried from behind her, wide smile on his face as he lay there naked as his girlfriend outdid his brother on his behalf.

"Yeah," she replied, turning around with a smile, "You mentioned it a few times last night."

Wrapping an arm around her waist again and pulling her in for a kiss, Conn suggested with a grin, "We could just have a good morning anyway, love. He'll leave."

Trusting that Stripes was clothed again, Murphy turned around and demanded with a grin to match his brother's, "Hey, ye two have all fuckin' day, fuck probably forever. Stripes, not that we both didn't miss ye most because we love ye, but Conn missed kissin' ye and I missed yer food. Please…!" he begged, throwing on a pleading expression.

Smiling, she nodded, "Fine, I'll make you breakfast, but _only_ because I'm fuckin' hungry…

"Hooray!" he shouted.

"…because Conn's the older twin."

Sighing, Murph held a hand out to help her out of bed, "Ye were a lot nicer before ye got over bein' shy, Stripes."

"Ye love me anyway, Murph," she grinned.

Grabbing his jeans from the floor, Conn pulled them quickly on and pulled Stripes into his side as the three of them made their way out of her room. They reached the kitchen where Da was sitting and drinking a large cup of coffee. Smiling knowingly, he nodded a good morning to her before she, kissing Conn again, began rummaging about for French toast ingredients.

It wasn't quite the same as back in her apartment, but the same feeling was there. The four of them were all inexplicably home.

"So, how are ye today, lass?"

Chuckling, she shook her head. Da was so very clearly their father, from the leading questions to that damned smirk. "I'm perfect, Da. Although, in an odd turn of events it appears ye're the only one in the room who hasn't seen me naked."

Head shooting up from the paper in his hands, Da sent a sharp glare across the table, "Murphy Norman McManus, what the fuck did ye do?" (A/N: Yeah, I just did that. :D)

As she began mixing eggs, cinnamon, and sugar with a fork, Murph asked very hurriedly, "So Stripes, how did ye get so good at talking like us?"

"I practiced," she answered absently as she pulled out a frying pan.

"Why?"

At that moment, she froze, slowly lowering the fork back into the bowl. Though Murphy had asked, she could feel three identical pairs of eyes on her back. It felt like she'd been in that situation before. Apparently Smecker hadn't mentioned it to them. "Umm…"

She had to clear her throat before words would come out. "Hypothetically speaking, what-what would you do if I told you I was moving to Ireland tomorrow night?"

Conn's answer was immediate. "Never let ye go."

"Why are ye doing that, lass?" Da's voice held a decidedly less scared to death element. She'd heard it loud and clear in Conn's and it broke her heart.

Unable to bring herself to turn around, she replied to the toast, "Witness protection. The FBI wanted to send me to Utah, but I fought for Ireland. I've got a passport, birth certificate, and everything. I start classes at the university in Dublin this fall…"

The long silence was only brought to an end when Da spoke, more to keep her from breaking down than anything else. "Is it just ye, lass, or are they taking yer family, too?"

"You're my family," she answered without thinking.

Smiling, Da said gently, "Aye, lass, and ye're ours."

Sighing raggedly and finally turning around, she sniffed back tears, "They doesn't know anything. I tried to go back home to them the night I left my apartment and they wouldn't even let me in. They called me a bitch, told me they hated me, and then threatened to call the police. I left. I-I wasn't sure I was going to see you before the trial and I couldn't just let myself be thrown across the country to restart my life…and I think part of me had to be there if you ever went home…"

Glancing at his surprised sons, Da stood and hugged the young woman before him.

"Stripes, why didn't ye tell us?"

A half smile appeared on her face, "Well, between Murph ruining my shower and you, Conn, I honestly didn't think about it last night…"

"But…but…but!" Connor jumped to his feet and began pacing. Murphy grabbed a hold of his arm and held him still until Stripes came over and hugged him around the waist. As soon as the woman wrapped herself around him, every ounce of real fight the Irishman had dissolved into nothing.

Da and Murphy then retreated to the counter, making the toast themselves and attempting to be as insignificant as possible.

"But I just got ye back! Stripes, I can't lose ye again... Why does this always fuckin' happen?"

Pressing herself into his chest, Stripes fought back tears. Why _did_ this always happen? As soon as she and Conn got somewhere, one of them left the day after. Would they just be boats in the night forever? Her brain was screaming at her to just ask them. They loved her. All she had to do was ask them to come with her…

Her conscience held her back. She couldn't do that to them. They had a job they needed to do. Despite every fiber of her wanted to be, she knew she couldn't be that selfish. Even if it broke her heart, she couldn't ask them to do that. She couldn't ask them to stay, so there was only one other option.

"Then I'll stay," she whispered with conviction. "I'll stay with you."

"But ye can't…" Sighing, Conn rested his forehead on the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Ye can't stay, love. Ye aren't safe." Smiling sadly after a long silence, he brought his hands up to cup her face, "I need to hide ye in a fuckin' tower somewhere so ye never have to worry about ball kicking at all, Yer Highness."

Smiling through tears, she shook her head, "I'd climb down to find you every time." She paused to reach up on her tiptoes and kiss him before continuing, "Conn, I don't want to leave you."

"Neither do I, Stripes, but ye have to." His thumb began running over the scar on her neck and she knew that all the scars he'd found the night before were running through his mind. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn't kiss them away. "Ye can't stay here. I can't sit here and hope ye don't die. God gave ye to us; I'm not losing ye forever."

For a long, long moment, she just stared at his chest, absently running her hand over his heart. Letting out a shaky breath and finding his eyes, she finally nodded. "Okay."

Leaning down, he closed the distance between them, kissing her without caring Murph and Da were still there. He let his hands grab both her hips and pull her to him. He was going to let her know just how much he'd miss her until she was no longer in the same hemisphere.

Attempting to further lighten the air of gloom that had descended, Murphy teased, "What is it with ye two and always puttin' a fuckin' damper on the day with all yer mushy shit? Here I even have to make my own fuckin' breakfast."

Exchanging a small smile with Conn when they'd pulled away, Stripes commented levelly, "Yer toast is burning, Murph…"

"Fuck!"

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><p>AN: Why hello there everyone,

So, whooooo I got something up. Hooray! I feel happy! I did more revising on this chapter I think than any other, but all in all, I'm rather happy with it. :D However, I'd still love to know what you guys all think. I'm always up for some editing!

I hope you all enjoy, please let me know what you think, thanks for your lovely, glorious reviews, and thanks for reading! You guys have really made writing this so much more fun and rewarding than doing it solely for myself. :)


	23. An End

So hello there...I'm back!

School and marching band have started back up, but we're so close to the end that I just don't care. :) I'm going to have this story awesomely finished by October or you all need to spam my PM box with anger. On that note, I love you and all your reviews! Thanks so much for reading and letting me know what you think and I hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

><p>Stripes had no cover, no guns, and no McManuses. She felt naked. Letting out a wavering breath, she attempted to lighten her mood, thinking that she'd felt that way a lot in the last day and a half without any qualms. Though, thankfully, not in front of Murph again.<p>

Nope, that didn't help.

As she walked up the steps of the Boston courthouse unarmed with only Greely for protection, the knowledge that she'd just hugged and kissed the McManuses and what felt like her life goodbye was not welcome. Tears threatening, yet again, she put her head down as they continued the trek, the hood of her sweatshirt up.

When he'd returned to the church the day before, Smecker had suggested she dress as down as possible during transport. If they could make her look like a simple criminal being taken in, it'd be a heck of a lot easier than fighting off her fan club.

Conn had smirked sadly at her as she'd gotten dressed, occasionally holding pieces of her clothing hostage for a kiss. He'd taken a liking to the practice in the little over twenty-four hours they'd had together again. Despite the depression that had loomed over them, just like the day they'd left her, it had been an incredible day.

Refusing to let them go to work, Stripes had gleefully forced Murphy and Conn to vacuum at one point and she'd never wanted to leave the kitchen when the four of them sat about, talking and laughing, as she baked the communion bread. She'd prayed and hoped and wished with everything she had that at some point, someday, she'd get those days on a regular basis.

One day, she hoped she could kiss Conn goodbye and know she'd see him later that day.

Greenly pushed her along faster when the voice of a reporter hit their ears, "_Standing trial for the third time in two years is infamous mafia don, Papa Joe Yakavetta. He takes the stand today to defend himself against allegations of his involvement in the order killings of no less than seventeen men and one attempted murder charge. The state's case against him relies heavily on circumstantial evidence, though there have been unconfirmed rumors of a material witness found by the prosecution. The witness list has been kept confidential. With no confirmation of this testimony, a third acquittal has already been widely predicted."_

Tiny part of her smiling, Stripes wondered what that woman's report was going to be later that afternoon. She was going to have far more to talk about. From Smecker and her men's—yes, the McManuses were hers—plans, she'd have _lots_ to report on. As usual, they hadn't completely let her in on it, which to be honest she didn't mind. She'd been dozing in Connor's lap when Smecker arrived at the church around lunchtime. In her semi-conscious state, the few things she'd picked out were that they were coming to the trial and Papa Joe wasn't leaving it…

While passing mechanically through the metal detector—wishing yet again she had her guns—she tried to keep telling herself that she was almost there.

TBS TBS

Stripes fidgeted uncomfortably as she was escorted into the courtroom.

Paul had left her after she'd gotten a chance to change into nicer clothes, going off to coordinate something he refused to confirm. Smiling a final time and squeezing her shoulder, he'd walked off, leaving her in the care of a tall uniformed officer. Despite his genial face and conversational nature, she couldn't help but figure out ways in her mind to take him down if she needed.

That was all almost over. She'd earned her right of disarmament.

Despite his earlier friendliness, her escort became silent when he pushed open the courtroom door for her, allowing her to enter first. There was an immediate hush. Fighting the urge to push her hair back into a ponytail, Stripes made her way cautiously inside. She could immediately tell Papa Joe's men from the rest.

Though Smecker had told her not to, she couldn't help but sneak a glance at him. Papa Joe was sitting there in the front, his hairline still receding and his glare deadly. There was fear behind it, though.

Stripes smiled.

He could glare at her all he wanted. There was nothing he could fuckin' do. He could go to fuckin' hell.

Sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from him, on the prosecution's side of the room, Stripes stared straight ahead. She was far too close to the press people for her comfort. Her peripheral told her that every single camera they had was trained on her. She was the answer to the great big rumor. She felt like a fuckin' zoo animal.

It didn't get better when, after all the rising for the judge and calling of the case was over, the prosecution lawyer stood and read their witness list to all assembled. "The state of Massachusetts will be calling Joseph Yakavetta and Chloe Sandler to the stand, Your Honor."

TBS TBS

Two hours later, Stripes' ass was fully falling asleep as the courtroom watched Papa Joe rise from his seat. Taking the stand, his carefree smile was firmly on his face and his voice was never any less than highly amused. To her side, she could hear some of the reporters whispering about his charisma and how he would undoubtedly get off once again. Their hushed conversation quickly turned to her. "_What's with the woman? Did you get any head's up on a witness?"_

"_Nah. I'd heard the rumors, but I didn't think she was real. It doesn't matter. Unless he tried to kill her or something, she won't matter…"_

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to make the tingles and discomfort disappear. As soon as Papa Joe was finished, it was her turn. If only they knew…

At the bit of movement, the bastard's gaze landed on her. His expression dropped for that split second and it made her incredibly satisfied inside. She didn't care if she didn't get to testify at this point. Making him uncomfortable was more than enough. He'd beaten her and laughed at her tears. He'd had all the power in the world over her at that moment, and now it was all gone. He was nothing.

Holding his gaze, eyes narrowed, Stripes continued to watch in silence.

Suddenly, in the middle of Papa Joe's sentence, the doors crashed open, making all within jump. Stripes couldn't help but flinch in surprise too as her McManuses charged into the room, guns all at the ready. Through all the screaming and shouting, Conn found her eyes in the chaos and sent her a tiny smile.

Of all those present, as Papa Joe was pushed to his knees, only she and a young woman dressed in white weren't cowering on the floor. They had been the only ones sitting in the benches on the floor. While the other girl was shaking and scared to death, Stripes was comfortable for the first time since setting foot in the room. There was absolutely no reason for fear.

"You people have been chosen to reveal our existence to the world!"

Stripes heard Da begin his speech, which she had actually helped with a tad bit, but couldn't bring herself to take her eyes off of the mobster kneeling before death. She'd been in that position. She knew what it felt like, and she couldn't bring herself to have sympathy for the man. Empathy, yes, sympathy, there wasn't a fuckin' chance in hell.

Without truly understanding why, tears began to spill from her green eyes. She didn't know if it was anger or relief or just being overwhelmed, but she sure as fuck knew that they weren't from sadness.

When Da had finished, the fire alarm suddenly began to ring through the building. Connor and Murphy leapt onto the lawyer's tables, guns held out to all sides. Again, she didn't truly hear their words. The words didn't matter to her. They weren't the Saints to Stripes; they were her family. Her eyes stayed glued to them through her tears as they jumped down.

Closing her eyes as they began to pray, she committed the words to memory, something else to remember them with.

"And Shepherds we shall be, for Thee my Lord for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. We shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

Refusing to open her eyes, she heard the three simultaneous gunshots and the screams of terror that followed immediately after. The room emptied within seconds, the fire alarm still blaring in the background. Stripes didn't move until the sound of feet was gone. Only then did she open her eyes to see the three before her, varying expressions of worry on their faces.

Decidedly not looking behind them, she smiled suddenly, "Nice fuckin' speeches."

Identical smiles greeted her then. Standing and climbing over the bench she wrapped her arms tightly around Murphy, the closest. Kissing him fiercely on the cheek, she moved quickly onto Da and then to Conn, who got a far longer kiss. "I love you," she whispered to all of them, before releasing her hold on Conn.

"We love ye, too, Stripes," Conn whispered back, pressing a final kiss into her hair before they turned and ran, enacting whatever escape plan Smecker had rigged up. Taking a deep, dangerously wavering breath, Stripes turned around and walked to the back of the courtroom, avoiding the bloody mess in the front.

Duffy met her at the back door, a large hoodie in his hand. "You ready?" he asked as she slipped the garment on.

Forcing on a smile, she nodded with her new accent in place, "Aye."

TBS TBS

Prior to that night, Stripes had never been on a plane before. That one would likely be her first and last.

New passport in hand and her luggage charge paid for, she'd been sitting at the gate for her eleven o'clock flight for the past nine hours. Paul sat silently beside her. The subtle showing of his badge had easily gotten him through security with the firearm that made her feel safe. Besides, who in the world was more fuckin' anal about airport security than America? They'd been falling in and out of conversation since they had arrived only an hour after Papa Joe's trial had prematurely ended.

Just as Smecker had suspected, she was still fully cleared to leave. With the defendant dead, why keep the witness around for his friends to get to? Stuff happened.

For those last nine hours, she'd managed to keep herself together. She hadn't shed one tear since she stood and hugged them all good-bye for the last time. She'd been strong.

Paul didn't buy it, but didn't question, either. As the call for business class was made, he stood and held out a hand to her. Taking it and standing, she smiled at the man who'd become her friend. She'd never actually hugged Paul before, but that moment was probably her last opportunity. Wrapping her arms around him, she squeezed tightly, "Thanks for everything, Paul."

As she suspected, he wasn't a man great with good-byes. Hugging her back, looking caught between touched and awkward, he replied, "Stay safe, Chloe O'Brien."

Stripes grinned, "I'll fuckin' try. Ye stay out of trouble yerself."

Shouldering her carry-on, she got in line, waving one last time to Smecker as she handed her passport to the flight attendant. Seeing the color of its cover and the couple of stamps within, the woman asked, "Going home?"

Swallowing back tears, she nodded, "Aye."

It was uncomfortably stuffy inside the airplane, but Stripes didn't really notice as she stared out the window, huddled in Conn's smoky black pea coat. Ignoring the businessman who sat down beside her and the video explaining their seatbelts, she stared into the darkness, wondering where they were.

As the runway lights began to fly past them and her stomach churched at being rocketed into the air, everything immediately crashed down on her. She wasn't just in a different room or a different city… she was putting an ocean between them. Not caring who fuckin' saw, she put her head on her knees and sobbed.

Five hours later, exhausted, heartbroken, and filled with loss, Stripes stepped off the plane and into Dublin International Airport. Sighing deeply, she grabbed a hold of the black rosary around her neck and looked toward the ceiling, "Keep them safe."

Letting the beads go and grabbing her luggage, she strode forward, looking for home…


	24. Creepin'

"Holy fuckin' shit…" Stripes breathed.

Climbing from her rental car, she ignored the rain and could only stare. A rowdy pair of men's voices knocked her from her trance as they exited the building before her. She knew that accent, but hated how hearing it made her stomach twist. Turning and snatching her messenger bag from the car, she quickly locked it and strode in before she could stop to think.

She wasn't the only one with sopping wet hair as she pushed her way through the thick Friday night crowd, the blaring Irish music only just louder than the conversation. Almost breaking down at the similarities to McGinty's, Stripes pulled up a stool at the very end of the bar, a space she'd learned was for those not looking for company. It was an unwritten rule. Pulling off Conn's coat, she hung it behind her and shook out her hair as best she could.

Conn and Murph weren't going to be there for when its true color came back…

Sighing deeply, holding back a sob, she let her head fall onto the dark wood of the bar, the wooden floor and her black converse filling her vision as it began to cloud. She could do this. She could do this. She…_couldn't_ do this.

She hadn't been like that for very long before a deep, heavily accented voice greeted her amiably from behind the bar, "Hello, lass. Welcome to The Anvil. What can I get for ye?"

Stripes took a minute to raise her head, considering her options while still staring at her shoes. She had no job, nowhere to go, and no impending responsibilities. Why the fuck not? Last time she was going through separation from McManuses anxiety, she'd had a paper to distract her. Pulling herself up and resting her chin in her hand, she sighed, muttering to herself, "What would Conn and Murph have?"

The bartender, who was about Da's age and really kind of resembled him, looked at her peculiarly for a moment, but she didn't notice. Holding up two fingers, she ordered, "Two pints of Guiness and a shot of Hennessey for starters, please."

Giving her a nod with a small smirk of a smile, he grabbed two pint glasses and a shot glass. When he returned with her drinks, smiling again as she started in on one of the beers immediately, he held out the hand that wasn't holding a rag, "I'm Siebel McManus. Do ye have a name, lass?"

"Str—Chloe O'Brien," she replied as tears began, shaking his hand with a quivering one of her own.

"Good to meet ye. Let me know if ye need anything." At her nod, he threw his rag over his shoulder and drifted on down the bar, glancing back as he did. He didn't know where the fuck the Connor and Murphy comment had come from, but he sure as fuck wasn't letting her drive home that night. She had the look of heartbreak in her eyes and he knew he'd be at her end of the bar quite a bit.

Seven beers and four hours later, Siebel was officially cutting the woman off. Nobody had really been able to get much out of her in the last five shots aside from some intense sobbing, but they'd all heard the names Connor and Murphy multiple times. Everyone in the Anvil knew the McManuses, though none had ever heard of Chloe.

Leaning over the bar and gently tapping her cheek from where she was hanging between conscious and passed out, Siebel questioned, "Who're ye drinkin' away, Chloe? Why're ye doin' this?"

Groaning, she slurred tearily into the hand her head was teetering on, "Connor fuckin' McManus. I'm dying because I love him and am probably…never going to see him and Murph and Da again. So…I'm being them for the night…except my liver isn't them I don't think…I have a Stripes liver…"

Shaking her a bit, trying to keep her awake long enough to figure out what to do with her, he pressed, "Who's yer Da, lass?"

"Well," she explained, not noticing that her head had dropped from her hold and onto the bar, "he's not really my Da. He's their Da. Da is Noah. He's like my Da."

"Fuckin' hell," the barkeeper breathed, now easily heard in the silence that had fallen as she began to snore drunkenly. He couldn't just leave her there…

TBS TBS

Stripes groaned, blinking against bright sunlight. She hadn't been this hung over since… fuck, she'd never been this hung over. Thankfully, Murph wasn't there to mock her…and there she went. Her sadness just kept creeping back. "Jesus fuckin' Christ…"

"Lord's fuckin' name."

Jolting out of her skin with a surprised screech, she found herself sitting upright immediately at the woman's voice. Before her stood a woman around Da's age with hair the same color as Conn's and Murphy's angry face. The pounding in Stripes' head was suddenly having competition from the nervous beating of her heart. Bringing the cigarette in her hand up to her mouth, the woman took along drag before asking, "So, my brother-in-law says ye know my boys and their Da."

"Aye," Stripes breathed out, nodding like an intimidated four-year-old.

Pulling her thick blue sweater more tightly around her, their Ma hung her cigarette from her lips and extended her right hand, "Annabelle McManus."

"Chloe…but I go by Stripes, too."

"Stripes? Where the fuckin' hell did ye get Stripes?" laughed Annabelle, settling herself on the coffee table in front of the couch Stripes had been passed out on.

Smiling sadly back, she replied, "Conn." Hands immediately beginning to shake, she pushed her knotted hair back from her face. She would not cry. She would not cry… A large sob escaped despite her efforts.

Wrapping an arm around the younger woman's shoulders, Ma helped her up, "Come on, love. I usually take my cigarettes outside. Ye tell me about it." Stripes just nodded through her tears as she was led through their house. Along the way, their Ma grabbed an icepack and a large glass of orange juice, handing both to the sobbing woman. She was not only a tried and true expert at curing an amateur's hangover, but also of learning to live with missing her boys.

TBS TBS

Hiccupping through a sob, Stripes smiled at Ma, who had just like Da requested she refer to her that way. "Ye know, I hadn't exactly envisioned meeting Conn's ma passed out and drooling on myself."

Cackling, Ma shook her head, "Oh love, ye didn't just meet me. Ye met the whole fuckin' family. That's what getting shitfaced in the Anvil on a Friday night does. Ye were too plastered to see the family resemblance, I'd guess."

"Fuckin' hell, really?" Blushing profusely she buried her face in her hands, laughing despite herself. "I'm sorry for all this blubbering and crying. It's starting to become a tradition that I meet McManuses when breaking down."

Leaning back against the screen door, Ma spread her legs out before her on the small porch, "Don't worry about it, Chloe. They aren't the type ye forget easily, I'd know…After their Da left and was late coming back, I couldn't go to the fuckin' Anvil for three months. Having them gone is a shock to the fuckin' system. Ye gotta let yerself ride it out and ye'll be better."

The two women sat in silence, watching the mid-morning fog roll in and take out the sun. Stripes continued sipping her orange juice and Ma started up her second cigarette. Rain looked imminent when Ma asked, "So, ye just moved here with nowhere to go? Ye got any fuckin' plans?"

"Aside from finishing up my masters in Dublin, I've got nothing. I really hadn't thought past getting out of the fuckin' country without being killed…"

A long drag and exhale followed Stripes' words until Ma suggested nonchalantly, "Ye know, Siebel's always running his bargirls away because he can't keep his fuckin' hands to himself when he's drunk. Ye being Conn's, he'd probably leave ye alone if ye're looking for a job…and it's been too fuckin' long since I had somebody besides Siobhan and her grandkids keepin' me any fuckin' company in this house…"

Grin appearing and widening devilishly, she continued, "Those ungrateful pissants only ever fuckin' call me on St. Patty's and Mothering Sunday anymore. We could pull a hell of a fuckin' prank on 'em next year with ye here…"

Returning the smile, Stripes nodded, "Aye, I could go for that."

* * *

><p>I wasn't sure how, but life started up again. It was a heck of a lot easier than the last time I was without them, though missing them was always creeping up on me. This time I had company. Between the two of us, Ma and I kept each other on the safe side of sane.<p>

With no way to reach them or to even know if they were okay, Ma's prediction proved true. Although I could safely classify myself as again happy—I'd gained an entire family along with Ma, complete with little kids to watch and about ten of Conn and Murphy's cousins—I began to consider St. Patty's the most important date of the year…


	25. Deal

Hello there,

So, for any of you still with me, this is the second to last chapter. We're so fuckin' close! :) I want to have the end up by October. So, thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and drop a review if you can.

I don't own, etc, etc, etc.

* * *

><p>"MA!" Not looking up from her paper, Stripes called again over the ringing of the doorbell on the Friday before Mothering Sunday, "MA, the door!"<p>

As the bell started on its sixth ring, she sighed and pushed herself up from her little nook in the corner of the kitchen table. With far more teasing than actual annoyance, she shouted toward the stairs, up which Ma was undoubtedly being silent by design, "Dammit, Ma! It's yer door."

"Aye and it's likely yer fuckin' package!" her housemate finally yelled back.

Laughing with a shake of her head, Stripes pulled the sleeves of her sweater down further over her hands and opened the front door to let the cold in and reveal the mailman. Undoubtedly hearing their exchange, he greeted her with a smile, "Hope ye're having a good day, Chloe."

"I always do, Marcus. Thank ye," she grinned in reply as he handed her the box.

"I'll wager it'll be even better once ye two tear into that thing. It must be a Mothering Sunday present from her boys. It's postmarked Boston."

"Really?!"

Chuckling as her face lit up with elation, the older man nodded, "Aye. Have a good weekend, love."

"Ye, too!" Stripes nodded absently, staring at the label addressed to Ma as she let the door swing lazily shut. It was scratched and torn, obviously not having had the best trip over the Atlantic. Still, the word Boston made her smile. The box wasn't necessarily large, about the size of a shoe box. Contemplating whether or not to open it that second, Stripes was knocked from her thoughts.

"Fuckin' hell, lass, ye're letting all the fuckin' cold in!"

Proffering the box with an exuberant smile, she declared excitedly, losing her accent for a second, "You got a Mother's Day present!"

Freezing where she stood on the stairs, Ma could only stare for a long moment. "I what?" she finally breathed quietly.

"A present, ye deaf old woman. Come on, open it!" Stripes shouted, rushing to her and pulling her to sit on the couch.

Though she was too anxious to give her a minute, she understood why Ma was being slow to the punch. Though neither of them really talked about it much, the worry about Conn, Murph and Da never went away. Always silently, they perused the Boston news websites religiously every Sunday night, searching for anything that might mean they were hurt or in trouble. The two women ached to know something, _anything_, but nothing was always better than something bad. Her present undoubtedly meant that they were okay enough to send it. Ma couldn't help but be a tad bit overcome by relief.

Finally swatting off Stripes' excitement, Ma growled with exasperation, "Calm the fuck down, would ye, lass? For fuck's sake…" Slowly, she opened the box to reveal a haphazardly wrapped gift, with the words 'Love ye, Ma' in large letters on the top. Snorting at it, she shook her head, "Those two haven't fuckin' changed a bit."

Within the box was a brand new Bible with a red cover and her name. Unable to keep the smile off her face, Ma just continued to shake her head, "I've been needing a new one since before they left…sneaky little bastards." Finding a letter tucked inside the front cover, Ma fell silent reading.

Feeling suddenly torn between incredibly sad and incredibly relieved, Stripes stared at the empty box. While she knew they had about as much idea of where she was as she did of them, the fact that there was nothing for her made her stomach twist. Admonishing herself in her thoughts, she tried to fight it back.

She was being fuckin' ridiculous. Why would they send anything to her if they didn't fuckin' know she was there?!

Still trying to convince herself to snap out of it, Ma knocked Stripes from her thoughts. "Here, there's a part about ye. Murphy spent almost a paragraph makin' fun of his brother mopin' about, so I'm guessing he's pining for ye as much as ye are." Grinning as the younger woman snatched the paper from her hands, she continued, "Murph and Da say that if ye ever found me, they miss ye. Conn says he loves ye, and hopes ye forgot all about him and found somebody else to make ye happy."

Rolling her eyes as she read it, Stripes snorted, "Not fuckin' likely, silly boy. He's fuckin' stuck with me."

Giving her a one-armed hug, Ma nodded, "Damn right, lass."

TBS TBS

Sitting down to their task that Sunday evening with far less anxiety than normal, Stripes and Ma watched as the laptop screen before them lit up to life. Ma had yet to receive her phone call, but given the time difference of five hours, neither was too worried.

Clicking the well-known way to the news station website, Stripes was almost too relaxed to take in the large red words when they appeared. It took her a full second to realize that on the screen before her, a large 'Breaking News' banner was flashing, the headline below it declaring 'Saints Car Fished from River; Bodies Not Found.'

Quickly clicking the article, she read in rising horror about the by then routine attack upon the mob by the Saints that had erupted into a car chase across the city involving ten police cars, five driven by mobsters then incarcerated, and one crappy black vehicle driven by three men with Irish accents that easily resembled the men wanted for the public execution of Papa Joe Yakavetta. It had come to an end only, after blowing out a tire, the alleged Saints' vehicle had careened off of Harvard Bridge, sinking into the frigid water with no survivors, despite police efforts and the divers dispatched before the sun had risen that very morning. Given the water temperature and velocity of the vehicle on impact, the forensics people did not expect bodies to be found initially. Likely, they would float back to the surface in a few weeks. Survivors were out of the question.

The only thing Stripes could hear above the blood pounding in her ears was the pounding of her heart. Everything was deathly, eerie silent for a long moment as the laptop sat upon the table. It immediately reminded Stripes of the silence associated with death. The silence following the men she'd killed was always different than normal silence. It was heavier.

This was threatening to crush her as it suddenly became very hard to breathe. Breathing raggedly through her nose, she fought the rebellious turns of her stomach as Ma reached out and clamped her hand in a shuddering vice grip.

As Ma began muttering a shock-jumbled mixture of the Lord's Prayer and 'Hail Mary's, Stripes upturned her face to the ceiling, screaming to the heavens as every piece of herself seemed to just collapse.

"We had a fuckin' deal! You were supposed to keep them safe..."


	26. An Deireadh

Phew, so the last chapter I've got planned...I'm not honestly sure what to do now. Two years later, this feels finished and it feels weird. :) So, thanks everybody for all the reviews you've left and just for reading. I hope you've enjoyed Stripes' journey and drop me a review if you can. Thanks so much for reading! :)

* * *

><p>Ma and I did not move from that couch for over twelve hours. The sun had fully risen and our alarms had been blaring for hours by the time either of our bodies decided they were not as dead as we felt inside.<p>

Sometime in the night, Ma had fallen into me, sobbing silently into my shoulder. I had stared at that fuckin' computer screen until the battery died. Neither of us knew what to do, too shocked to understand anything aside from the quick and painful death of those beating things in our chests. So we did nothing. We sat in silence amongst the screaming alarms and the ringing of our phones.

Auntie Siobhan rushed into the house during her lunch break, swearing loudly about scaring her half to fuckin' death. As the sight of the two of us, pale, tear soaked, and blank, she paused. "What fuckin' happened?" she asked, hand immediately going to her rosary.

Ma still couldn't move, only still heaving on my shoulder. My first reaction was to point at the computer, my eyes still seeing the horrible news on the dead screen. "I don't understand, sweetheart."

Unable to find my voice at first, choking on the sob in my throat, I croaked out, "They're dead, Auntie Siobhan. They died yesterday." A blood curdling wail came out of Ma beside me.

I was four hours late in calling in sick to the university. My first class had left after waiting a half hour according to the history department's secretary when I shakily explained to her I was in the middle of a family emergency. Three of my students had come to the office to ask after me. On a different day, I might have been touched that they liked me enough to stay so much longer than the asked ten minutes.

But it wasn't a different day.

At Siobhan's prodding and practically carrying, we found out way into the closest bedroom, Ma's. Despite all the years he'd been gone, she still kept one side of the bed made up for Da. It was something I'd never commented on, but we both knew why there was a pillow there she refused to ever use but never took away.

As my head hit the pillow that was supposed to be Da's and Ma broke down all over again, I felt them slowly start. I thought back to one day almost a year ago when I sat on a roof with Conn, looking into those gorgeous grey eyes that made my stomach disappear, and made him promise not to let me cry. Because of forces completely out of his control, he broke his promise from across an ocean where his body was apparently frozen at the bottom of the fuckin' harbor. I didn't fuckin' care if he hadn't wanted me to love him anymore; I did. I was always going to and him dying didn't change one fuckin' thing.

Siobhan could only turn off the light and go to get both of us a whiskey as we curled into ourselves and sobbed.

* * *

><p>"I'm fuckin' going, Ma!" Stripes shouted, straining against Ma's hold. She knew what she fuckin' needed to do. Ma wasn't going to stop her. It had been a full forty-eight hours. She was wasting fuckin' time.<p>

"You're sure as fuckin' hell not, Chloe! Ye put that bag down right fuckin' now!" Grabbing the duffle bag for emphasis, she threw it across the room to land dully on the stairs. The two women stood there, staring each other down, grey eyes on green. Finally, practically panting with held-in emotion, Ma stated, "Ye are _not_ going back to Boston."

"Yes I am," Stripes protested, making to rush past her to the door but quickly losing her fight as Ma's arms enveloped her in a hug. "I-I have to go. I have to find Smecker and find them and-and-and…"

She hadn't thought past finding Smecker and getting an explanation. She was too angry to do any real thinking; that's what Smecker was for. He was the thinker.

Grabbing the younger woman's chin gently, Ma forced her to look at her. "No, ye don't. Ye don't have to do anything but stay here and figure this out. Ye aren't going to move on, ye aren't going to get better, not fuckin' yet, but ye are not goin' back to get yerself killed by some mobsters." As the anger and pain continued to fight in Stripes' expression, she pressed on, "Connor wouldn't fuckin' want ye to. I raised the boy. There's not a chance in hell that he'd want his lass to get herself killed over him."

Laughing bitterly through tears, Stripes said while blinking rapidly, "Ye realize that is the most fuckin' cliché thing ever, right?"

Smiling sadly, Ma shrugged, "Cliché doesn't make it not true. Now go put yer fuckin' bag away…I'm not losing ye, too, Chloe. Not fuckin' now…"

TBS TBS

Stripes stared at the phone a week later, St. Patrick's Day. She'd been staring at it for the last hour, wrapped up in a blanket at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of whiskey. It had been a week since that fuckin' article had come out. It had been a week since they had fuckin' died. It had been a week since all the life in the little house she'd come to love had just been squashed.

Being an ever-resilient woman, Ma had turned all of her grief into energy after that first day. She'd cleaned the house top to bottom in between work and bartending at the Anvil. She'd had her longest dry streak since she'd been pregnant with the twins. She never drank depressed…a trait Stripes couldn't say she'd picked up in the last week.

Ma had long since left for the Anvil for that night. The whole family was gathering, having a memorial of sorts. St. Patty's wasn't a night you stayed at home, no matter the circumstances. Family and company would heal any wounds. Along with that, the history department at the university in Dublin was having a party. Being faculty, Stripes was invited to the fairly formal event. Stripes knew she should go to something.

Stripes had gotten ready and everything. Under her blanket she was fully dressed in her green cocktail dress, only her heels sitting by the door unworn. But when the time had come to leave to arrive early, she just couldn't. She wasn't ready to be around…_people_. She wasn't ready to be around people and be expected to be social. She wasn't ready for it to be a year since she'd really met them. She wasn't ready for their time in her life to be over. Although she loved their family, a deep, dying part of her said they were what made it work. They were what made _her_ work, even if they were so far away. She knew they still loved her. And now, they were dead… _Conn_ was dead and she couldn't escape the giant part of her chest that had died as soon as she read the words.

If she stayed at home, staring at inanimate objects and blaming them for everything, she wouldn't have to be ready.

Not unlike the last time they'd left her, she'd hidden in the university library for two days, clad in her polar bear pants. Ma rode the train into Dublin the second and demanded she come back. Grief wasn't going to get healed by hiding inside a giant pile of books. While Stripes begged to differ, she relented to Ma's experience and tears. She'd lost her husband once and continued on. It seemed she was wasting no time in picking herself up and beginning the long, arduous climb out of the hole that Conn and Murph and Da's deaths had thrown them into.

As the phone continued to sit there and mock her, Stripes finally sighed, her hand coming to rest on her Gaelic dictionary. She'd been contemplating calling Smecker all night, demanding an explanation. After being talked down from getting on a plane and doing it in person, the thought had been bouncing around her head all week. It was dangerous. She wasn't supposed to have any contact with America at all.

Downing the last of her drink, she sighed again. She just could not catch a break when it came to them. She honestly wasn't sure what good could come from this one. They weren't going to come back to her safer. They weren't going to make her feel better or make her better as a person or give her a family when they were…dead.

Playing with the black beads of her rosary, she tilted her head upward to the ceiling and smiled ever so slightly, "Connor McManus, ye're a fuckin' bastard for this, I hope ye know that. I hope ye're stuck on a fuckin' cloud with Murph's annoying ass for the next fifty years until I get there, old and fuckin' lonely because I fuckin' love ye so much."

Standing and taking her glass to the sink, she subsequently put the phone back in its place in the living room. Quite suddenly, she couldn't shake the feeling that if there was something good to come from it, she wasn't going to find it there at home.

Lord save her, Ma had been right. Following a couple break downs and a decent bit of whiskey, Stripes had finally managed to crack a smile. As Ma had tried to tell her, all week she'd been just wallowing in her own self-pity, her own consuming grief. If she wanted to ever have a chance of moving on the tiniest bit, she needed to face her memories of them head on and stop letting them cripple her. She needed to make the memories into gifts instead of sources of pain. The sooner the better, too.

What better place and time than St. Patty's Day in the Anvil later?

Grabbing Conn's coat from the chair beside her, she slipped the wool over her shoulders. She'd been wearing the garment every day over the winter and had been sleeping in it that week. Now, with a backless dress, she had an excuse. Pulling on her boots, shoving her heels into her plaid messenger bag, she grabbed her helmet. Pushing her bike a bit fast, she could make it down to the train station and only be a half hour late to the party.

Life had to keep going. She didn't have to move on, but she had to keep going.

TBS TBS

"Siebel! Siebel, will ye stop flirtin' with yer wife and get the fuck over here?!" Ma shouted with a smile as she struggled with two large boxes of whiskey bottles. A loud round of laughter spread through the full establishment.

As her brother-in-law swore savagely at her, smile on his face the entire time, he plodded slowly over and took a box from her. She let the loud rhythm of the music take over her brain as she knelt down and began restocking behind the bar. Jamie, her nephew, had been playing a consistently sloppier version of "I'm Shipping Up to Boston" for the last three hours. Being the only non-traditional song the little band knew, Ma quickly let it tune out the rest of the loud hum of chatter. For all the guff she gave Chloe about not hiding in a bunch of books, she went out every night and hid in a crowd of people.

Humming and mouthing the words in turn, Ma continued her work, wondering at intervals with a smile if Murphy had found the band name 'Dropkick Murphys' amusing or not. She was still humming absently to herself when the bar went completely silent without her notice.

As conversation and cheers positively erupted moments later, she didn't think enough of it to look up. Someone had probably fallen down or something. She already had a pint glass filled to the brim with car keys.

The second bout of silence caught her attention moments later. Frowning, she merely shook her head and continued stocking.

"Could we trouble ye for a beer, Ma?"

Her heart stopped beating. She could tell. She was going to have a weird arrhythmia for the rest of her fuckin' life because her heart had fully stopped. She didn't need to look up to know where the synchronized voices came from. After hearing them grow from infantile babbling to manly infantile babbling, she knew exactly who they were.

Smiling widely, tears already spilling, she replied to her sons, "Not until ye get yer asses over this bar and give me a hug this fuckin' instant, ye ungrateful, wonderful little bastards!"

TBS TBS

"Aye, it was time to be done. Our friend Smecker had some things ready and we managed to pull it off. Goin' off the bridge was intentional," Conn explained over his pint to their uncle. "We had breathing stuff in the car and on already. It was a little fuckin' cold, but…"

Murph nodded, "It was time to come home."

The two brothers exchanged a glance, small, sad smiles on their faces before they subtly clinked their glasses and took a drink. They'd been wanting to come home for a long time…ever since Stripes left. It just hadn't been the same after her. Conn was fuckin' miserable without her—he'd come to know without a doubt that she was it for him—and being around her had made all three of them realize that their job should only go so far.

While neither had trusted to hope, both had kept the faint wish that she'd be there. Somehow that she'd managed to find their home and be waiting for them…Apparently, things didn't work out that way.

"She's gonna fuckin' kill you three."

Murph and Conn looked up at their uncle with confusion as he grinned at them while leaning over the bar. Ma and Da had long since disappeared, having twenty-five lost years to sort out. Also, aside from her habitual swearing and some chastisement at letting her believe them dead on Mothering fuckin' Sunday, she had been genuinely ecstatic to see them back from the dead. Neither of them had had the heart to ask her if Stripes had ever appeared. Ma hadn't said anything.

"What the fuck are ye talkin' about?" Murph finally asked. The pure hope on Conn's face ensured he wasn't going to have the ability to speak.

"Ye two know exactly who I'm talkin' about. Yer Ma's a fuckin' softie at the core. _She_ on the other hand is goin' to gut the fuckin' two of ye, makin' her think ye're dead. I don't know how yer Ma managed to talk her down from goin' back to avenge the three of ye. She was right ready to kick some fuckin' ass. She's been flip-flopping from devastated to fuckin' pissed all week… Aye, that's her bike now, I think…"

Sure enough the high whine of her source of transportation cut through the hum of noise. As it wound down to a stop, the bar went silent for the third time that night and all eyes were on the twins.

"Wait just a fuckin' minute," Murph demanded, highly confused expression on his face. "Ye mean to tell me that not only is Stripes—_our_ _Stripes_-here, but she rides a fuckin' motorcycle?!"

Chuckling at Murph's confusion and Conn's growing hope, Siebel nodded, "Aye, she's been here since last June and she's had the bike for about six months now. She's got a fuckin' tattoo, as well, if that's what ye're interested in."

"Never fuckin' mind that," Conn exclaimed, "She thinks we're fuckin' dead?! Fuckin' wait! What color's her hair…"

He quite abruptly trailed off as _she_ walked through the door, eyes down, _golden red_ hair hanging over her shoulders, looking inconsolably miserable. After how long he'd been sad, lonely, and pining for her, Conn's instinct was to run straight to her and never let her go. His brain remained too paralyzed to let him.

Not noticing the silence surrounding her, Stripes groaned as she strode into the bar, immediately heading behind the counter, holding her head, "Siebel, I need a beer! I can't do this fuckin' be around sociable people thing, yet…" She let her forehead drop with a thud to the wood of the bar, not unlike her first visit.

"Aye, ye'll be all right, though, Stripes, love. I promise ye," Siebel mentioned nonchalantly.

Randomly swinging her arm in his direction, as if trying to hit him without having to look up, she shook her head. Her accent was gone and everyone could hear the exhaustion in her voice, "What? No, stupid Siebel…Fuck you… Oh, I'm not nearly close enough to drunk to be this ineloquent, even for St. Patty's."

Rubbing her eyes, she queried while raising her head, "Where's Ma? I need a drinking bud..."

Freezing mid-word, her green eyes widened taking in the two men before her. Connor was sitting there, staring at her with his glorious smile on his face. Eyes flitting to Murph, it occurred to her that he was there, too. Shocked beyond all sanity, her mouth opened, a scream almost past her lips. Before more than a choked squeak could get out, Stripes had fallen to the floor in a dead faint.

"FUCK!" Murphy swore.

Conn vaulted over the counter. Despite a few gentle shakes, she didn't respond. Trying to get over the joyful shock that he was again holding Stripes in his arms, Conn picked her up. She remained limp. Sighing, he glanced at his uncle, "Where's she live?"

Unable to get the smirk off his face, the man nodded in the right direction, "Yer place. She and yer Ma are housemates."

Nodding, Conn and Murph exchanged another glance. A familiar grin spread over Murphy's face. "I'll say hi to her tomorrow. I'll let ye take the anger and she'll just be happy to fuckin' see me."

"Fuckin' thanks, Murph," Conn grumbled as he headed through the door.

It had begun raining outside, but there wasn't much Conn could do to keep her dry aside turning her face more into his chest. The rain didn't bother him in the slightest. He couldn't get his head wrapped around the last fifteen minutes.

They were home. Their Ma was their same old Ma they loved so much. The Anvil was the same Anvil. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. And somehow, Stripes had made herself a perfectly fitting place in all of it. Conn had fully resigned himself to never seeing her again, let alone seeing her with golden freaking hair. He'd accepted the tough fact that he was far, far away and she needed to find somebody else to love her. He'd wanted someone else to love her. He'd wanted her to be happy, to fuckin' hell if he was. If she was, he would be, too.

It was making his brain spin in circles realizing that he probably didn't need to worry about any of that. Then, the terrible thought that she might've found someone new entered his mind. Just because she was living with his Ma didn't mean she couldn't date. It didn't mean she couldn't have moved on. His hold on her tightened.

Fuck her being happy with someone else, he was scared.

The porch light was already on when he reached the house he and Murph had grown up in. Letting himself in, he strode into the kitchen. It looked the same, aside from a gigantic pile of books sitting in a corner of the table. A laptop was teetering atop it and a now worn Gaelic dictionary was beside it. Smirking, he readjusted her in his arms. Well, he'd found Stripes' study spot.

Walking into the brightly lit living room, Conn found Ma and Da sitting down, a bottle of whiskey between them. Rising from her chair, Ma came over. "Poor thing, I wondered if this would happen. If ye bastards had just given us a phone call, this wouldn't have happened."

Shaking his head, Da shrugged, "We weren't exactly counting on ye two watching the news for us."

Helping Conn lay her down on the couch, Ma rolled her eyes, "What the fuck did ye think she was going to do? She's head over heels in love with ye and we're the only family she's got."

Catching the look on Conn's face, anticipating his question, Ma shook her head, "She isn't seeing anybody. She tried once because I made her and didn't make it past the first five minutes. She said it felt like she was cheatin' on ye. It doesn't matter if ye were only together for a couple of days; ye were it for her. It took her a bit to admit but she always knew."

Grabbing a shot glass and filling it, Ma tilted Stripes' head up and poured the liquid in. Within seconds, Stripes had bolted upright, spluttering and hacking up the burning alcohol. She'd been awoken like that before. Finding Ma's face above hers, Stripes grabbed her shoulders in a death grip. Instantly sobbing, she exclaimed, "I'm going in fuckin' sane. I saw them. I swear to God I saw them."

Shaking her head, Ma smiled, "No, ye're not. They're just insensitive bastards." Holding out a hand, Ma helped the younger woman to her feet. Then, after Da gave her a warm hug and a smile, the two exited the room, leaving a dazed Conn and positively bewildered Stripes standing across the room from one another behind them.

Sniffing back some of her continued tears, Stripes finally managed to hiccup, "You guys are fuckin' assholes; I hope you know that…"

"Aye, I know."

"I-I wore my polar bear pajamas to teach my class for Christ's sake," she stuttered out, raising an accusing finger at him. "For two fuckin' days!"

Grinning, Conn shook his head as he strode forward, "I'll bet ye were beautiful, too."

Sucking in a deep breath and finally letting out the huge smile that had risen up all the way from her toes, Stripes met him half way, "I missed you so much."

Grabbing her face with both hands, he interrupted her giggle as he crashed his lips onto hers. Kissing back and wrapping her arms around his neck, Stripes' mind finally stopped trying to catch up. Nothing fuckin' mattered; he was back. Pushing herself up onto her toes, she pressed herself up against him. Pulling back only when he had tightly lifted her up into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, Stripes pressed her forehead against Conn's. Biting her lip shyly for a moment, she stated breathlessly, "You are never leaving me again, Connor McManus."

Bringing one of his hands up to run through her mind-bogglingly bright hair, he shook his head, "Never again, Stripes." As she smiled, he breathed, "I love ye so much."

"I love ye more."

Rolling his eyes, Conn silenced her with another deep kiss.

Vaguely noting that the backdoor had loudly closed awhile back and Murphy was going to lie low, he smiled against her lips. Tightly holding her with one arm, he slipped her shoes off, dropping them to the floor, before making his way toward the well-known stairs. There was only one bedroom she could've been staying in and he knew it well… She lost no time in pushing his jacket from his shoulders along the way.

From what little he could make out of it in the dark and his distracted state, his old room hadn't changed much. She had pushed the two beds together, making herself a large one along one wall. The rest was basically as it had been aside from her clothes and books being strewn everywhere.

In the faint light from downstairs, his stare was quickly narrowed to only the green eyes he'd missed so fuckin' much. Running her hands over his chest, as if continuously reassuring herself he was really there, she smiled sweetly up at him. Damn, he'd missed that smile. Running the hand that wasn't holding himself up down her face, he ghosted his fingers over the scar on her neck.

So much had happened since then. So much had changed…

Catching his hand, knowing what he was doing, she intertwined their fingers and pressed a kiss to his palm. "I'm only holding yours," she whispered with a smile.

It suddenly dawned on him that there was one thing he never wanted to change. Murph was the one to rush into things, to go with his feelings, but fuck if Conn wasn't his twin. When it came to her, his feelings had never steered him wrong. "Will ye marry me, Chloe?"

The words were so loud in the relative silence of the house, their breathing and her clock the only other noises, Stripes didn't realize what he'd said for a moment. Worry had firmly settled upon his face as she lay there beneath him, his question finally dawning on her. The explosive grin on her face effectively wiped it away. "Aye. I will."

She pulled him down to kiss her before he could utter a word more. It was a good night, she'd found the good in it, and she wasn't going to let it be over yet…

TBS TBS

"Hi, Murph…"

Stripes groaned far too early the next morning. However, the traditional poking of her nose brought a smile to her face. This time, she'd made sure to pull Conn's black t-shirt and her panties on before falling completely asleep in his arms. At some point, God save her, in her married life she was going to be able to wake up without a Murphy to worry about…

She could hear the smile in his voice before she opened her eyes, "Good mornin', Stripes. How was yer night?"

"Fuckin' hell, Murph," Conn complained from her other side, swatting absently in his brother's direction. "Ye're a fuckin' dick."

Smiling as she merely grabbed Conn's arm and pulled it in to wrap around her, Stripes admonished, "Be nice to yer brother, Conn."

"Aye, I knew I'd fuckin' missed ye, Stripes," Murph declared brightly.

Grinning back at him, she snuggled further under the blankets and into Conn's embrace, "I missed ye, too, Murph. Do ye think ye could let us sleep in a tad bit longer, though?"

She'd already closed her eyes, expecting Murphy to be kind and acquiescent to her small request after not having seen Conn for almost nine months. He couldn't deny her at least sleeping in with his twin, could he? "Aye, but ye know…I could really use some breakfast. Ye and Conn can always fuck later, ye know..."

Green eyes shooting open into a glare, she stared at him. He continued to grin at her, knowing and reveling in the fact that he'd made her mad. Rolling over and quickly pressing a strong kiss to Conn's lips, Stripes was out of bed within seconds. Taking both twins by surprise, she had a hold of Murph's ear and was pulling him down the stairs angrily.

"Ow! Fuck, ow, Stripes!"

Ignoring him and how his shouting roused not only a chuckling Conn but also Ma and Da from bed, she continued on her journey. Not bothering to pull on pants or shoes, she hauled him down the street to The Anvil. Finally letting go of his ear, she pushed him toward the door, exclaiming laughingly, "Make yer own fuckin' breakfast, Murph!"

Taking in the sight of her in the middle of the street in an oversized t-shirt only, he grinned, "I fuckin' missed ye, Stripes."

Grinning back, she returned his fierce hug, "I missed ye, too, Murph. But, if ye try that shit on my honeymoon, I'm kicking yer ass."

"Honeymoon?!" he demanded, look of wonder on his face before a smile broke through. "Aye, I'll give ye a break then."

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she turned to walk with as little blushing as possible back to her house. Uncle Siebel's very, _very_ loud whistle brought her efforts to an abrupt halt. Blushing bright red, she sprinted back to the house.

She returned to find Conn sitting on the porch steps, grinning broadly at her as he'd seen the whole scene. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her lovingly down into his lap, ignoring the small crowd of grinning onlookers. Pressing a long kiss to her temple, he hugged her to him, "Happy St. Patrick's Day, princess."

Grinning up at him, she wound an arm around his neck and pulled him in for another deep kiss. "Happy St. Patty's to you, St. Connor."


End file.
